


A Government-Mandated Proposal

by FrozenSnares



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Developing Relationship, F/M, Government-Issued Marriages, History, Slow Burn, married at first sight
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-22
Updated: 2017-10-28
Packaged: 2019-01-21 06:32:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 28,727
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12451599
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FrozenSnares/pseuds/FrozenSnares
Summary: If you are unwed by the age of 25, you receive a letter telling you that you are on the waiting list for a government-assigned spouse, and once assigned, the wedding is scheduled with immediate effect unless you have found and married someone in the interim period.Statistically, most government-issued marriages are successful, so most younger people have braved it since divorce remains an option if the match proves unsuccessful.Shireen has waited six years, and she’s all but forgotten that a match is supposed to come about, not that she ever had any faith of a successful one. Naturally, she isn’t sure what to do when she receives a summons





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Shoutout to [valkyrien ](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Valkyrien/pseuds/VIII)for helping me think through this fic and figure out the technicalities of it. (Also, the name!)  
> Instead of posting a different work every day to fill the prompts, I managed to squeeze them all into this multiple chapter fic. Have fun spotting them, and have a great shipweek!
> 
> Follow shipweek shenanigans on my tumblr [frozensnares](http://frozensnares.tumblr.com)
> 
>  [Picset](https://frozensnares.tumblr.com/post/166665105616/a-government-mandated-proposal-if-you-are-unwed-by)

It didn’t happen immediately, but it would happen eventually. This took time— that she knew. She never expected it to take years. The timing was always different. There were always circumstances that could change multiple outcomes, but no one knew exactly how it worked. The only part that was public knowledge was that if you were unwed when you turned twenty-five, a spouse would be selected for you. 

The matches usually ended well, so Shireen wasn’t concerned about who she’d be married to. On her twenty-fifth birthday, she received the letter. She knew she wouldn’t be wed for it. The small glimmer of hope she would be married died when her last relationship fizzled out. During the last few years, she just accepted that she would have a government-issued marriage. With all the successes she heard from them, there wasn’t a cause for concern.

Her letter didn’t have a date. It was just a notice. Because of her marital status, a spouse would be selected for her. She would receive a court date for her wedding when everything was set. It didn’t bother Shireen. She was content waiting. Without having to worry about dating or marriage, she could simply continue working forward in her career. A long enough time passed, that she simply forgot about it. However, others didn’t.

“So are we here for any big news?” Edric asked, placing drinks down on the table.

Shireen looked up, pulled out of her daydream. She took the cup with a slightly confused expression. “I thought you stopped following my publications?” she asked. “After that piece on the value of obsidian during the war, you said you weren’t interested.”

“The mining part was really cool,” Devan offered. “And that bit about turning it into weapons and reviving the industry of forging when the artifacts were found. The rest… didn’t make that much sense to me.”

Rolling her eyes, Shireen took a quick sip of her drink. “I should publish a paper on fishing and transport systems,” she said. “That would pique your interest.”

Devan gave her a weak smile. “Don’t waste your efforts on me.”

“Yeah,” Edric said, a little too enthusiastically. “Waste them on someone else.”

“Pardon me?” Shireen asked, lifting an eyebrow at them.

Devan slumped onto the table while Edric rolled his eyes dramatically. Devan gave Edric a wistful look and gestured for him to go on.

“Aren’t you seeing anyone, Shireen?” Edric asked. “It’s been what? Five years?”

“Six,” Devan murmured into his cup. He tried to hide it with a cough, but Shireen shot him a glare anyway.

Shireen set her cup down with purpose, leveling a look at the two of them. “I received my letter just as you two did,” she said.

“With no follow-up,” Edric pointed out quickly. “Haven’t you at least asked about it?”

Steeling herself, Shireen sat up straighter. “Now, it’s all well and good that you two care so much,” she said, just a hint of acid in her voice, “but there is no need for further action on my part. I will be contacted if and when a marriage is expected of me. I needn’t waste my time thinking about it. That would impede from my research.”

Devan slumped down further. “Yes,” he said sarcastically. “Wouldn’t want anything to get in the way of another interview with Good Old Aemon Targaryen.”

“The oldest living man!” Shireen fired back. “It’s a wealth of knowledge that no one else has ever had access to! He wouldn’t even discuss such matters with his apprentice because—”

“Because he had to leave for a marriage to a woman who already had a child,” Edric finished for her. “We know. You never stop talking about how Samwell Tarly is doing.”

Devan sat up. “Aren’t you at least a little bit curious?”

Shireen shrugged. “Why bother?”

“Come on, Shireen,” Edric said. “You can spin papers out of nothing. Aren’t you even slightly interested in how all this soulmate business came to be?”

“It doesn’t fit the definition of _soulmate_ ,” Shireen corrected. “But if you paid attention during any of our phone calls, then you would know that I _am_ working on a thorough timeline of how this whole process came to be.”

There was a moment of silence. Edric and Devan both took a sudden interest in their cups, swirling the liquid around as they angled their bodies away from Shireen.

She let out a short sigh, settling further into her chair. “The process is fascinating,” she said. “As to _who_ it may be, my interest is minimal.”

Edric leaned back in his chair, putting his mouth to his cup. “Well, Willow’s getting concerned,” he said, taking a quick drink. “She’s almost about to go put in an inquiry herself.”

Checking his watch, Devan said, “Eh, it’s not that bad. These things vary… Dez waited two years for me.”

“ _Two_ ,” Edric pointed out. “Not _six_.”

Devan finished off his cup, placing it down on the table. He gave Shireen a look, but she had already opted to ignore them, reading over something on her phone instead. “I’m sure there have been longer cases,” he said. “But, hey, I gotta go. Kids are getting out of school soon.”

“Shit.” Edric quickly downed his cup. “I was supposed to start dinner before getting them.”

Shireen looked up at them, a soft smile on her lips. “How are the kids?”

“Too big,” Devan said. He looked exhausted just at the thought. “Dax still wants to get carried everywhere, so _of course_ Mina does, too. They’re going to throw out my back.”

“Old man,” Edric scoffed. He gave Shireen a smile. “You know we’re just worried about you, right?”

“I’ll be fine,” she said. “I don’t need a spouse. There have been plenty of cases where people never get an issuance.”

Edric rolled his eyes again, turning to Devan. “Definitely spending too much time with A.T.”

“I’ll work harder to get her an appointment with Olenna,” Devan mock-whispered to him.

Laughing, Shireen stood up. “I can’t put my life on hold for it,” she said. Walking around the table, Shireen gave them both hugs. “We’ll just let whatever happens happen.”

\--

 

It was three weeks later that the letter arrived. Shireen was beyond searching for any sign of it that she didn’t even give it attention when it came. It sat at the bottom of her post stack while she read through the various ‘thank you’s and acknowledgements from people she interviewed and mailed copies of her papers to. Shireen was sorting them out by publication, trying to place the narratives in order for her newest work. 

Her single-mindedness made it so she didn’t even know what she was reading until she read it over four times and realized that they were asking her to bring a lot more materials than what would be required for jury duty.

“A witness…” Shireen murmured, finally looking at the heading for more information. She slowly read, “ _Congratulations! Your selected spouse has been confirmed. Please appear at the specified date and location below for your wedding._ ”

Below the location was a list of things to bring, including several forms of identification and a witness. Shireen stared blankly at the page. There were several people she _could_ call. She knew plenty of people, but she wasn’t sure how she wanted to go about this. Setting the letter down, Shireen went to her computer and fell back on the information she usually trusted: research.

Naturally, the data varied. The trends were fairly consistent, though. Most people no longer married until getting their assigned spouse, and the success rate of the government issued weddings was increasing over the years. Aside from the trustworthy data, there was nothing else of use, but Shireen didn’t want to turn to the general internet here. Instead she went over what she knew.

Some people moved in together immediately after marriage. Others waited and tried to have a regular courtship. Those people tended to then have a wedding ceremony later for their second marriage. Everything that happened after the designated marriage date was optional, and nothing could make those decisions for her.

Shireen couldn’t even make those decisions herself. In the next month, she would have a spouse who would be involved in most of her future decision-making. Shutting her eyes, Shireen slumped down into her chair, hoping that a solution would present itself soon.

\--

It wasn’t until the day of that Shireen actually did anything about it. With her appointment at noon, she needed a witness to bring to the courthouse. Scrolling through her contacts, she looked for someone who wouldn’t be busy and who wouldn’t go around telling everyone about it. With some doubt, she called her roommate from university.

“Shireen?” came the response.

“Hey, Beth,” Shireen said. She walked around her house, picking up everything she needed with one hand and double-checking her bag. “Are you busy?”

“No, not really,” Beth replied. “What’s up?”

Shireen bit her tongue, wondering how to ask this in a casual way. “I was wondering if you could accompany me somewhere,” she said, trying to make it sound casual. “It won’t be long… probably about twenty minutes.”

“Yeah, sure,” Beth said. “Where should I meet you?”

“I’ll pick you up,” Shireen said quickly. She didn’t want to ask Beth to meet her at the courthouse. That would be far too obvious.

Beth hesitated a minute. “Alright,” she said. “I’ll just let Tommen know.”

“Great.” Shireen leaned over the kitchen table, checking the time. Everything would be right on schedule. “I’ll be there in a few.”

Ending the call, Shireen let out a small sound of annoyance. Really, she had been hoping that this day would never come. Shireen flicked the letter in her hands. She had re-read it every day, praying that it would change its meaning and stop being a truth of her life. The optimism that most people had upon receiving their letters was lost on her. After such a long wait, it was easier to imagine her future without anyone else in it. With a groan, Shireen put her bag on her shoulder and went out to her car.

She tried to look on the bright side. There were so many people in her life that were happily married now. Perhaps, she’d have just as much success.

Pulling up to Beth’s house, Shireen made to get out of the car when Beth came skipping up to her. Her auburn curls were swinging around her face, and she looked positively jubilant. Beth opened the door and let herself in, leaning over to give Shireen a hug.

“I’m excited for our adventure,” she said, putting on her seatbelt. “Where are we going?”

Shireen clenched her jaw, wondering how long she could hide the truth from her. “Can it be a surprise?”

“Only if I can also tell you my surprise,” Beth said. “I bet it’s bigger.”

Shireen laughed. “Do you want to go first?”

Beth grinned, waiting until they were stopped at a light before turning to face Shireen. She took a deep breath. “All of the adoption papers went through,” she said. “Tommen and I are going to get a child! Well, not a child, we chose someone older because it’s harder to get them out of the adoption system, but still!”

Shireen’s jaw dropped. “Really?” she asked. “Congratulations!”

“We’re really excited about it,” Beth said, twisting her hands in her lap. “Now, when do I get to find out your news?”

“I think you already have,” Shireen murmured. They were already at the courthouse, and Shireen drove slowly to find a parking space.

Beth practically jumped up and clapped her hands together. “Really!” she said, turning with wide eyes to Shireen. “Today? Wait, you’re going dressed like that?”

Shireen rolled her eyes with a sigh. “I’ve never even met the person,” she said. “I’m not going to dress up for them.”

“That’s not exactly true.” Beth crossed her arms to level a look at Shireen. “I knew Tommen before.”

“He’s my cousin,” Shireen said, putting the car in park. “I’m just… trying to go in with an open mind.”

Beth was silent for a minute. She waited a while before asking, “Do you know what to expect?”

Shireen sighed, turning to face Beth. “Not at all,” she said. “I just… I don’t know.”

“Well, from the legal side of things, it’s all pretty straightforward,” Beth said firmly. “You go in, wait a few minutes, get called in, meet your spouse, and sign the papers.”

“That’s it?” Shireen asked.

“That’s it,” Beth said. She had a calm smile on her face, helping to set Shireen at ease. “After that, you can figure out what to do with your spouse. Tommen asked me on a walk, and we had dinner together.”

Shireen bit her lip. “So we should do something?”

Beth nodded. “Just do what feels natural, Shireen,” she said. “It’ll work out.”

Nodding mostly to herself, Shireen left the car. She tried to calm her nerves and prepare herself for what would be happening within the hour. Shireen kept near Beth’s side, letting her direct her where she needed to go. They entered into the room, signed in, and took seats next to each other.

Looking around the room, Shireen tried to determine who would be her spouse. Everyone in the room was a stranger to her. They all looked just as worried as she was with the exception of one woman who was in a cute white dress for the day. Shireen met her eye, and tried to give her a smile. The woman giggled and mouthed _Good luck_ at her. 

“Shireen?” someone called.

She looked up, hoping to see someone familiar, but it was just the clerk.

“Please, enter with your witness.”

Beth gave her hand a small squeeze before going to hold the door open for her. Shireen entered, trying to keep her expression steady. There was already a pair of men in the room, waiting by the judge at the front. One looked positively unkempt. His hair was sticking up in all directions, helped along with the tight curls. His shirt was loose over his torso, and his jeans were torn up. By comparison, the other man looked positively dapper. His clothes were all perfectly fitted, and his hair was definitely at least combed. He turned at the sound of the opening door and lit up.

“Beth?” he called.

“Bran!” Beth called back. She jumped forward, away from Shireen, to go give Bran an enthusiastic hug. “Oh, it’s been too long. We need to catch up!”

Bran chuckled. He was holding tight onto a cane at his side, and it looked like all of his weight was on it. Beth stepped away, making sure to steady him. Bran waved her down, shifting his weight a little. “If you’re not here to get married, we can do it after,” he said. “I’m just a witness.”

“Me, too!” Beth turned back to Shireen, waving her forward. Shireen slowly approached, giving Bran a small smile. Beth took her hand and brought her to her side. “The woman of the hour is Shireen.”

Shireen waved a small hand. “Hello,” she said. “It’s nice to meet you.”

Bran held out a hand to her. “Bran,” he said. “Welcome to the family.”

Shireen took his hand firmly and tried to stop any emotions from crossing her face. Presumably, Bran’s brother would become her spouse in a few minutes, and he looked almost entirely opposite from her. He turned to the group with a laughing smile on his face. Shireen was trying not to look him over, but her eyes were hanging on the tattered edges of his shirt and several vibrant colors that were scattered over his torso. They appeared to be stains from paint and other inks. The preoccupation she took with her staring made it so she almost didn’t realize he had extended a hand to her.

She carefully took it, trying not to seem too concerned with his appearance. He didn’t seem to care in the slightest. When her hand was fully against his palm, he tugged her forward and sent her off balance. She caught herself and looked up to find him staring at the side of her face.

“What happened there?” he asked, inching closer.

Her extremely limited interactions with new people made it so Shireen had almost entirely forgotten how off-putting her face could be. The damage left on her face wasn’t so much scarring as it was intensely irreparable scar tissue that had somehow hardened. Procedures could be done to improve the situation, but it was all too expensive and wouldn’t improve her quality of life any more.

Bran placed his knuckles into the bridge of his nose, shaking his head at his brother. Beth looked slightly horrified. “Rickon!” she called. “Be polite.”

“Sorry, Beth,” Rickon said. He stepped back with a sheepish smile on his face. “Or rather… Sorry…?”

“Shireen,” she said gently. Though she couldn’t bring herself to smile at him, she tried to force herself to remain optimistic about the future. Dropping her hands, she turned to the judge. “Shall we?”

Rickon glanced over her head before turning to face the judge. The process was as simple as Beth described it to her. She handed over her identification, filled in the papers, and then signed her name. After Rickon, and then both their witnesses, contributed their signatures, they were declared married, and thankfully there was no expectation for them to kiss.

“Please present your left hand,” the judge said. Next to them, someone opened a drawer with a loud jingle. 

Shireen lifted her hand up, and the watched as a she was quickly sized for a ring. Thankfully, they didn’t put it on her finger. Once it was placed on the counter, Shireen took it in her hand, unsure what to do with it. The same process was repeated for Rickon, but he held out his hand and had the ring placed on it. Shireen tried to look over to Beth, but Beth was in conversation with Bran. Rickon slipped the ring into his pocket, so Shireen simply followed suit. Without anything more, they were dismissed from the room.

“Well,” Beth said firmly, leading them out the room. “Bran has offered me a ride home, so we’re going to catch up and leave you two to get to know each other.”

Shireen gave her a pleading stare, hoping that she wouldn’t leave her alone with a complete stranger. She still felt like she was in a dream, and she was silently praying that somehow all of this wasn’t true.

Unfortunately, Beth took Bran’s arm that was holding his cane. He waved the other at them. “Have fun!”

Watching them go, Shireen tried to gather herself. She wasn’t prepared for this in the slightest, and she felt rather empty. There didn’t seem to be any way to move forward. Picking at her sleeve, she turned to face Rickon. Surprisingly, he looked extremely uncomfortable. His arm was behind his head, mussing up his hair.

“Um, I drove here, if you want to do something,” Shireen offered. She didn’t really want to go anywhere, but she wasn’t about to tell him that.

He gave her a weak smile. “I, uh… I actually have a meeting right now,” Rickon said. “Sorry, it’s been on the calendar for a while, and I couldn’t reschedule.”

A huge weight disappeared from Shireen’s shoulders. “Oh,” she said, trying to keep her joy from spilling over. “Some other time, then?”

“Yeah, sure,” Rickon said. He dug into his pocket and pulled out a business card. It was entirely black with silver lettering on it. “Just give me a call.”

Shireen quickly produced one of her own business cards, hoping he wouldn’t scoff at her title of _Historian_. She tried to give him a small smile. He took it with gentle fingers, sliding the edges of it against the palm of his hand. Even though he claimed to have prior engagements, Rickon didn’t make to move. He still seemed to be awkwardly pinned to the spot.

“You’re welcome to come with me, if you want,” he offered. He kept moving his hands around as if he didn’t know what to do with them.

“That’s okay,” Shireen said. “You don’t need to be introducing me to anyone so soon.”

“Yeah, okay,” Rickon said. “Maybe we can do lunch?”

“Sure,” Shireen said. She took a step away. Ending this encounter was worse than she expected. Somehow, he seemed guilty for having to leave her alone, even though she welcomed having some additional time to think things over. Walking away was almost too harsh a move, though. A hug was far too intimate, even if he was technically her _husband_. A wave might do it, but Shireen had never been one for such gesticulations. Instead, she held out her hand again.

“Look, I’m sorry about earlier,” Rickon blurted out. He didn’t even take her hand. Shireen slowly let it fall. “I didn’t mean to make a big deal about your face.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Shireen said quickly. “It’s not the first time, and it won’t be the last.”

Rickon didn’t look comforted by the thought. His uneasiness made Shireen feel better about the situation. After all, she never expected to find herself legally wed to someone like him. She just knew better than to put it into words. Before he could respond, Shireen took a step away.

“I’ll see you later,” she said. She lifted a hand in a mock wave before going back to her car. Briefly, she wondered how many people have searched the internet for advice on how to date their husband, but she doubted she’d be the first. 

Digging through her bag, Shireen checked to make sure all forms of her identification were still there. Then, she slowly pushed Rickon’s business card into a small pocket. A splash of colors caught her eye, and Shireen pulled it out to see the small embossed paint splatter in rainbow colors. She closed her eyes tight and wanted to hit her head against the steering wheel. They hadn’t exchanged full names, and she hadn’t even tried to read his signature. Because most people kept their last names until changing them at a separate visit to the courthouse, Shireen didn’t even think about checking. However, she now had a completely selfish reason for getting to know her husband. 

Rickon Stark was a descendant of the subject of her next paper.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Picset](https://frozensnares.tumblr.com/post/166710310446/a-government-mandated-proposal-chapter-2)

Shireen spent the next few days immersed in research. Her marriage was almost forgotten. She hid the ring away the instant she got home, placing it at the bottom of one of her drawers. Instead, she wanted to know the truth. With name changes and how sloppy ancestry worked, she wanted to be positive of her claim before she went to anyone about it. She sifted through every source she could find, hoping for a distinct, clear connection between her recently-acquired husband Rickon Stark and the King of Winterfell decades ago who shared his same name—Rickon Stark II. It was around that time that the histories were slightly fuzzy, due to the outbreak of wars and their subsequent demolition of material evidence, but Shireen was eager for a connection.

She glanced sideways to the stapled packet of papers from a colleague. _A Righteous Rebellion_ , it was called, chronicling the just cause that her own ancestor, Robert Baratheon I, had in usurping the Targaryens from the throne in his plight for having Lyanna Stark as his bride.

Every word of the paper was appalling. It was a disgrace to her entire ancestry, claiming that Robert had made sound decisions in discrediting her direct line of ancestors. The language used to speak of his supposed love interest was demeaning and read of masculine privilege that would be expected if it were written by anyone who lived in the time of Robert Baratheon I. Shireen was personally offended, and she would personally put pen to paper just to prove this colleague wrong.

The only component missing was her undoubtable evidence. She had nothing at her disposal, especially with the sloppy history that she decided to work in. Rubbing her hands over her face, Shireen slouched over her desk.

A chime from her phone rang through the room, and she blindly reached over to grab it. On the screen was a simple text message:

_Lunch tomorrow?_

Shireen glanced up to the contact, seeing that it was Rickon. While she was contemplating her response, another message popped up:

_(I was too nervous to call.)_

Letting out a breath of air, Shireen quickly typed up a concise response: _Sure, what time?_

Making plans wouldn’t hurt. With any luck, she could be blunt in asking about the matter at hand and move forward. Somewhere in there was actually getting to know Rickon. It would have to happen eventually, even if she wanted to put it off for as long as possible.

\--

“So, how does one become a historian?” Rickon asked, splitting his attention between her and his menu. He was dressed better today, but Shireen doubted he owed a shirt that wasn’t stained with some other color.

Shireen gave him an incredulous look. “I think the better question is asked to you,” she said, giving her menu her full attention.

“I’m not a historian,” Rickon said cheekily. He was grinning at her, waiting for a response.

Without looking up, Shireen said, “Well, I’ve never met anyone who was actually called an artist.”

“That’s fair.” Rickon continued staring at her enough so that she knew he wouldn’t go on until she looked up. Eventually, she did, and he settled into his seat. “It’s going to make me sound like a douche.”

She laughed, leaning onto the table. “Well, are you?”

He had a worried expression on his face. “I hope not,” he said. “Well, you’re a historian. You probably already know that I’m from a, er, rather wealthy line of people.”

Shireen tried to look unaffected by the news, even though Rickon still looked worried. “I had my suspicions,” she said. “I tried not to get too involved with it.”

“My dad’s a history buff,” Rickon went on, as if he didn’t hear what she said. “It’s actually really annoying, even more so that he named us after a set of Starks from way back when.”

“He did?” Shireen asked. She was practically itching to take notes, but she didn’t dare pull out a paper and pen.

Rickon nodded solemnly. “Robb, Sansa, Arya, Bran, and Rickon,” he said. “The way he talks about it is like he collected a set. It’s like my whole existence was just for his satisfaction of naming kids. My personal rebellion was in choosing the job my parents would consider the most useless, so artist it was. I like to think I’m decent, though.”

Nodding, Shireen went back to her menu. She didn’t want to press the topic. The feeling of his experience struck too close to home for her. Just days after she was born, her mother filed for a divorce from her father, giving up all her rights and claiming that she wanted no part in Shireen’s life. She definitely didn’t want to get into those details, and she felt bad that Rickon thought he had to. Perhaps, he was just one for oversharing. She didn’t know.

They ordered in relative silence, keeping the conversation light and minimal until the food arrived. Once it did, they had good reason to stop talking, even though they managed to cover their more generic traits without any odd outbursts. They now knew each other’s ages, education, living arrangements, and select favorites of media. Shireen thought that she was doing quite well, even if her opinion had only shifted slightly.

“Would you like to visit the studio sometime?” Rickon asked.

Shireen looked up at him. Even though it was his profession, it seemed a rather personal invitation, especially since she wasn’t planning on hiring him in any capacity. As much as she wanted to keep putting off getting to know him, she knew it couldn’t last. Against her better judgement, she agreed and somehow Rickon talked her into joining him once they finished up their lunch.

 _It’s a short walk_ , he had said, and Shireen kept repeating this to herself as they went through the city together. She wasn’t even entirely sure if he was speaking. Her mind was in other places. It was his confused staring that made her realize her manners were falling apart because she was so uncomfortable.

“We can do this some other time, if you want,” Rickon said. He slowed to a stop, turning to face her on the sidewalk before stepping out of the main walking space. “I know that this is probably all a bit sudden for you after so many years...”

“No, it’s okay,” Shireen said. She gestured for him to lead on, finding her step closer at his side. “I just… wasn’t really expecting it, so I’m not sure what to do.”

Rickon nodded, crossing his arms in thought. “Yeah, I thought it might be that way for you,” he said. “I’ve just always known that it’d be soon.”

“How?” Shireen asked.

“I guessed.” Rickon grinned at her. “All of my siblings have soulmates that are older than them. So their spouses all waited a while, but my siblings all found out within a month of their respective birthdays. I assumed I would be the same.”

Shireen looked down at her feet. Patterns within families were rarely studied, especially since it was hard to find data patterns with so many relations to take into account. Shaking the thought from her head, Shireen reminded herself to focus on the present.

“I don’t think it’s an accurate assumption to make,” Rickon continued on. “But it was true for me. Here we are.”

The building they stopped in front of looked narrow, lined up with other small boutiques and shops that seemed to look more like a friendly neighborhood than somewhere to shop. She guessed that this was just where he worked, not where he lived. Rickon pulled out a key and opened the door, leading Shireen inside. She stayed in the doorway, waiting for him to go turn on the lights. The light coming in at her back illuminated a shining pair of eyes, and Shireen slowly took a few steps forward, promptly crashing into a table.

“Sorry!” Rickon called. “I left the place a mess…”

“It’s okay,” Shireen said. She blinked as the bright lights went on. “I was just wondering if someone else was in here.”

Rickon laughed, coming back down a row covered with a large piece of fabric. “No, it’s empty,” he said. He went straight for the painting she noticed and pulled off another scrap of fabric.

There was a beautiful painting of a black wolf with piercing green eyes. The texture on it was so realistic and looked so soft that Shireen wanted to touch it. She grasped onto the strap of her bag, hoping to keep her hands away from the work. “It looks real,” she murmured.

“Thanks,” Rickon said, sounding rather cheerful. “I’m only keeping this one for sentimental reasons. It’s one of the oldest in here.”

“It’s beautiful,” Shireen said, turning to give him a smile.

Rickon returned before wandering the aisles to uncover a few more hidden works. Most of his art seemed to be in greyscale with only a splash of color highlighted, much like the wolf. There was a wide variety of subjects: landscapes, animals, tiny details drawn so large Shireen almost couldn’t make them out. A few seemed to be experiments into other styles, and Shireen delighted herself in identifying the artist he was trying to mimic. The few times she voiced her guesses, Rickon confirmed them.

“No portraits?” Shireen asked after a while. Despite the range available in the studio, there were very few humans. The closest she saw depicted battles from above. She wandered over to one of these, eyeing the formations of the battle and people within it. “Wait, I know this.”

Rickon went to her shoulder, eyeing the painting. “You _are_ a historian.”

Shireen leaned in as close as she dared. In miniscule detail, she could make out the sigils on the armor of two people fighting off to the side of the painting. “It’s the Battle of the Trident,” she said. “That’s Robert Baratheon fighting against Rhaegar Targaryen.”

“So it is,” Rickon said.

She frowned at the painting. While it was beautifully done with such attention to detail, she couldn’t help but realize how inherently weird it felt. She turned to face Rickon. He was looking at her expectantly. She glanced back at the painting, trying to find the right words. “You painted it from above,” she said slowly. “Why?”

The corner of Rickon’s mouth lifted into a smile. “Guess.”

“You don’t like to do portraits?” Shireen quipped.

It earned her the laugh she was expecting. More importantly, it gave her time to find words. She turned back to the painting.

“There’s no glory here,” she said, mostly to herself. “Even if it’s the end of the battle, there’s no true victor. There are so many casualties on both sides: Targaryen and Baratheon. The losses are tremendous.”

There was a moment of silence. Rickon took a deep breath.

“Everyone has seen Rhaegar in armor,” he said, “sitting atop his horse, prepared to do battle, or locked in battle against Robert. Blade against warhammer. The tension of the singular moment. Robert, standing above as the victor. Soaked in the other’s blood. Everyone shows it like that. It’s always just them. But a battle… a _war_ isn’t fought by two men.”

Shireen turned back to face him. “You wanted to show the other lives that were lost,” she said. “And put perspective into a moment of history.”

“Exactly,” Rickon said.

After a while, Shireen turned back to stare at the painting. It was so similar to what she did, how she structured her papers. The broad strokes that everyone else used to tell the stories weren’t what she used. It was her job to dig deeper than that and find meaning in it where no one had looked before. It was exactly what she was trying to do.

“And I do portraits, too,” he said offhandedly, starting to walk away. Shireen followed after him. Rickon kept on through the studio, opening up a cabinet and pulling out a notebook and a stack of canvases. “Usually, people only ask for portraits as commissioned work, so I have a few on hand as examples.”

He gestured for Shireen to look through them, and she did with full interest. There were a few fictional characters redone in his style and some renowned figures of history brought to life. She could recognize Florian and Jonquil, the Seven Aspects of the Faith, Durran, Bran the Builder, Lann the Clever, the Grey King and his mermaid wife… She looked through with interest, seeing such humanity in portraits of those generally lumped in with the mythology and legends of the world. 

She froze on one page of the notebook, examining the spread. It was all one clear texture, but far from a repeated pattern. They were mostly star shapes, layered on top of each other and rather distinct from each other. The page was mesmerizing to look at, and Shireen kept moving the notebook around as if it would change the image on the paper.

“What’s this?” she finally asked. 

Rickon placed a hand on her shoulder to get a better look at the page. “Oh,” he said. “It’s, um, a bed of moss.”

Shireen looked closer, trying to make sense of it. “It doesn’t look like moss.”

“Have you ever stared at moss for eight hours on end?”

“No,” Shireen said, thinking she knew what came next.

Rickon shrugged. “Most people haven’t,” he said. “I have.”

“Right,” Shireen said. She started looking through the few canvases he pulled out, finding people that looked much more modern. They were all obviously posed, but a select few had subjects that obviously weren’t paying attention. The most noticeable of these was a small child. Shireen smiled, putting it down before looking to the last one.

The woman was looking away, though the grey of her eyes was still visible. She looked devoid of color, and rather miserable at the thought of being painted. Her dress was beautiful, done up like a masterpiece of older days, in soft blues that seemed to be losing color. In the distance, there was a gorgeous trail of winter roses, and Shireen realized that the woman was looking off toward them. She took in a deep breath.

“It’s Lyanna Stark,” she said. Though she was still very beautiful, it was obvious that she had many imperfections. She wasn’t ideal, but she was human. It made her more beautiful.

“Yeah,” Rickon said. “My dad’s got a thing with that era of history—you know, with our names—so he wanted me to paint her. It just didn’t seem right to make her just a pretty face, though.”

“Why not?” Shireen asked, a little too quickly.

Rickon gave her a cursory glance. “Lyanna Stark may have been a catalyst for a war,” he said, “but from what my dad told me, she never wanted that. She just wanted to be free.”

Shireen looked back at the painting, feeling a wondrous collision of all her worlds. “Rickon,” she started slowly, “the next paper I’m working on is actually about Lyanna Stark.”

“Really?” Rickon asked.

Too scared to look up, Shireen kept her eyes down. “Yeah,” she mumbled. “There’s not much evidence from that time, and I wanted to show her true intentions. I just don’t know how.”

Rickon didn’t respond, and Shireen started to grow even more uncomfortable. Now, he would know she was only so interested for her own ulterior motives, and she didn’t want that to be the truth of this. Still, it was hard for her to convince herself there was any other reason, especially since she was only getting to know him. As much as she tried to tell herself that she wanted it to work out, she didn’t know how true that was. When she finally felt she could take the rejection, she turned to face Rickon.

He gave her a small smile. “It must be fate, then,” he said. “We must have been meant to find each other.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Picset](https://frozensnares.tumblr.com/post/166745410946/a-government-mandated-proposal-chapter-3)

Rickon’s response stayed in her mind for the next week. The cadence of the words and the incredulous way he spoke them wouldn’t leave her mind. He seemed so sure of his statement, looking like he knew exactly what his purpose was in the world and, more importantly, that he didn’t mind that she was part of it.

Shireen still didn’t know what to think. It seemed to coincidental to think her life would just fall together, and she prayed for a second opinion. The only problem with that was that the only person who knew about Rickon was Beth, and Shireen already knew what she would say. Being accused of sabotaging her own life didn’t sound particularly appealing, nor did admitting to her family and friends that she had been wed without letting anyone know.

A future meeting with Rickon hadn’t been planned. He had insisted on reading at least one of her academic papers before that, saying that it was only fair since she got to see his artwork. Shireen didn’t quite agree with the levels of fairness here, but Rickon wouldn’t hear a word of it.

The next Tuesday, he called her.

“Okay, so I have confirmed the locations of all of my family members for this weekend,” he said firmly.

Shireen frowned at the receiver, hoping that this wasn’t what it sounded like. “Oh… kay?”

“Which, it should be known, is no easy feat, considering none of them were suspicious of my asking,” he continued, as if she hadn’t said anything. “So what do you think?”

Cocking her head to the side, Shireen tried to think of the correct answer. “Congratulations?”

“What?” Rickon asked back.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Shireen said, shaking her head. “Did I miss something?”

Rickon paused for a second. Then, he mumbled out, “Right, I said that part before you answered.”

“What?”

“I’ve read all your papers,” he proclaimed. “They’re quite interesting, even if their subject manner is further from my typical interests. I really like your perspective on the obvious stoppage preventing any smallfolk from rising to higher ranks. The focus on Storm’s End and Dragonstone, which I assume was for personal reasons, was very clear-cut, especially in showing the lord’s preferences for those of supposed-use to them.”

Shireen blinked into the receiver, unsure if she had actually heard him correctly. “Thank you?”

“You’re welcome,” he said firmly. “The excellent transition between the intentional oppression of smallfolk to their necessity in war and unwillingness to fight was very well done. You framed the values of people in this time period very well. I especially like the detail of mining in Dragonstone, and it was nice to read about how the process was expedited for the war.”

Mouth hanging open in shock, Shireen tried to gather her wits. “You _actually_ read all of my papers.”

Rickon chuckled. “Of course,” he said. “I said I was going to. I did have to make Bran find a few of them for me because they weren’t online, and apparently just taking them from a library isn’t a good idea.”

Shireen smiled, trying not to let it show in her voice. “You can usually check things out from a library.”

“Not without a college ID,” Rickon said. “The city library doesn’t exactly carry academic papers.”

“Right,” Shireen mumbled. She tried to get ahead of her thoughts. “Um, what do my papers have to do with your family’s location?”

“Right!” Rickon said loudly. Something thumped down loudly on the line. “How would you feel about going up to Winterfell with me?”

Shireen hesitated. “Like, on a date?”

“I mean, we could do that, too,” Rickon said slowly. “But I’d like to remind you that I am a proper Stark. _Descendent of the First Men_ or whatever, just like _you_ are a Baratheon, not straight from King Robert the First, but close enough to it.”

Leaning onto her desk, Shireen tried to figure out where this was going. “What are you getting at?”

Rickon sighed dramatically. “What do you do when you visit Storm’s End?”

Shireen rolled her eyes. “I’m a historian,” she reminded him. “I visit museums and read books.”

“Exactly,” Rickon said. “Don’t you want to go to a Stark museum?”

Shireen smiled. “Thanks, but I’ve been to all of them.”

“Indeed you have, my lady,” Rickon said. There was an air to his voice that made Shireen anticipate the coming drop. “But have you ever seen all the stuff in storage?”

His words rocked through her, and she almost dropped her phone. Rickon didn’t wait for her to catch on.

“And, as a Stark, I have access to the crypts underneath the castle,” he said, obviously knowing he was taunting her now. “Wouldn’t you like to see where Lyanna was buried?”

With the rush of adrenaline running through her, Shireen didn’t even bother to check her calendar to see if she had any pressing matters that weekend. She could reschedule. She would cancel if she needed to. This was an opportunity of a lifetime for any historian, especially since the Stark family was known for keeping away from speculation on them, especially from that part of their history. 

Getting her breath back, Shireen gripped onto her phone. “When do we leave?”

The rest of her week was spent rescheduling meetings. She claimed an emergency popped up and asked if she could call sometime next week to reschedule. Fortunately, there were only a few to manage, and none of them were for papers pending publication. Mostly, it was just meetings with colleagues to discuss their areas of expertise of find evidence for other papers that were in the works. 

In was a simple matter to take care of, but Shireen found herself antsy for the weekend. She was so thankful for Rickon’s kindness, especially since he didn’t have to do so much for her. For a brief moment, she brainstormed options to pay him back with before realizing that that didn’t need to be as aspect of their relationship. No matter how they moved forward from here, they shouldn’t have a relationship based on keeping score and owing the other favors. The thought didn’t stop Shireen from wanting to do something for him.

Somehow, when Rickon picked her up Thursday night for a long drive to Winterfell, she knew that they were more than just casual acquaintances, though husband and wife didn’t quite cover it. Rickon put her packed bag in his car, showed her where he put all the snacks, and invited her to take over most of the controls.

“Now. We can drive through the night and get there at three in the morning or so,” he told her, starting onto the road. “My family does still own property up there, and I do have a key, so it won’t be a huge problem. _Or_ we can stop before it gets too late and call up a place in Greywater Watch to leave a room open for us.”

Shireen gave him an odd look. “We can do that?”

“I can,” Rickon said. “Bran’s soulmates are from there. Their family owns a lot of places there.”

“Wait, was that soulmates plural?” Shireen asked. Her curiosity was piqued. Though there were a few reported cases of multiple soulmates, she had never heard of one personally.

Rickon laughed. “It was bound to come up eventually,” he said. “Bran’s a rare case, I guess. He’s in a polyamorous marriage. They’re getting more common, but most don’t follow through on them. They’ve made it work out. Meera and Jojen are great.”

“They’re related?” Shireen asked.

“Brother and sister,” Rickon confirmed, brushing over the topic. “So what’ll it be?”

Shireen thought through it. “Let’s stop for the night,” she said. “I don’t know how long I can stay awake, and I don’t want you to have to drive alone.”

“Aye, aye, cap’n,” Rickon said. “When we stop, I’ll send out a message. It won’t be the first time I’ve called the Reeds with odd requests.”

Shireen took the opportunity to be more invasive than usual. She asked Rickon a bunch of questions about himself, and he very pointedly made her respond to them as well. Everything was very casual, and Shireen tested her ability to stretch whenever Rickon asked for snacks. She dug through the bag on her lap, sifting through what he brought.

“You eat these?” she asked, pulling out a small bag of dried mango covered in chili powder.

Rickon laughed. “I’ve never tried them before,” he admitted. “The guy at the store assured me that they are delicious. Let me try one.”

Shireen opened the bag, digging in to pull out a piece. She placed one in Rickon’s outstretched hand, and he promptly took a rather large bite out of it. He quickly made a face before squishing his tongue around to get some saliva flowing.

“That is spicier than I expected,” he said, sucking in a breath. He took another large bite.

Staring at him open-mouthed, Shireen quickly said, “You said it was spicy!”

“It is,” Rickon confirmed, “but it’s a good spice. Get me another one.”

Staring into the packet, Shireen picked out another piece for Rickon before selecting a small piece for herself. She slowly nibbled on the end of it, finding that it was much spicier than she expected. However, the sweetness of the mango made it bearable and made her crave more.

“It’s surprisingly delicious,” Shireen said.

“It’s not cereal,” Rickon said back. “But I do want more.”

Shireen laughed, giving him another piece. She put the rest of the snacks away, getting comfortable in her seat. Rickon had already arranged for a room for them tonight, and she just needed to stay awake for a few more hours before heading to bed.

“Alright,” she said. She was fishing for material to think about and keep herself awake. “So you and your siblings are named after the old Stark siblings. Is your dad’s name Eddard?”

Rickon nodded. “My mom is Catelyn, too,” he told her. “Though, with everything else, I’m almost willing to bet that my dad mostly dated her because of it.”

She didn’t bother picking that one apart. “And your names were…”

“A wild goose chase,” Rickon said. “The first was a boy, and my dad already convinced my mom that Robb was a good name. Dad always said he would have given up if the birth order didn’t match, but it did. There are five of us.”

Shireen tried to think of a pleasant way to ask her next question. “Is your uncle named Benjen?”

Rickon laughed, turning over to give her an odd look. “No,” he managed to get out. “And I don’t have any aunts named Lyanna either. I don’t have any uncles or aunts on my dad’s side.”

“Bummer,” Shireen mumbled, much to his amusement.

“What about you?” Rickon asked back.

She crossed her arms, scrunching up her mouth. “My father insists that I was named after a different Shireen,” she said. “Not the one with greyscale. We do match, though.”

Rickon made a small sound between a scoff and a snort. “It’s not greyscale, though.”

“No,” Shireen agreed. “I was born with it. All the doctors thought it would go away, but it didn’t. I _could_ have surgery to fix it, but it’s not much of a bother.”

“How does it feel?” Rickon asked. There was intense curiosity in his voice. “Is it like… still skin?”

Shireen thought about it for a moment. “It is,” she said slowly, “but it’s a little rough. Almost like it’s perpetually dried out. Doctors have claimed it’s scar tissue, but it certainly doesn’t seem like it.”

They drove in silence for a while. Hours ago, Rickon had turned down the volume of the music so they could talk, and it was too quiet to make out the melody anymore. The streetlights flicked by, spaced out far on this empty road. The high beam headlights were on, though, illuminating the winding road in front of them. It looked flat around them, but there was always fear of trenches and ditches off the side of the road.

“They look pretty cool,” Rickon said. It was an offhand comment, as if he was referring to the weather. He might have been, considering they could see snow on the mountaintops in the distance. They were past the Neck now, but the road looked constant for much of their journey.

“What does?” Shireen asked, staring absently out of the window.

Rickon pulled off the highway, driving on a road near a bog. “Your scars.” 

He kept his eyes ahead. He didn’t look like he wanted to comment on it further, and Shireen wasn’t going to press him. Overall, his company was pleasant to keep, even if they hadn’t done much. She didn’t need distraction, though. Her focus needed to be entirely on gathering evidence tomorrow.

Somehow, in the midst of the swamp, they came upon a small town. It looked largely unmaintained, but the standing structures were in good repair. The roads were solid, and the town looked dead even so late at night.

“Where are we?” Shireen asked.

“Greywater,” Rickon said simply. He kept on down the road, heading to a large building. “The town is still fairly old. They didn’t move off their land when the majority of people started on to the cities. It looks much like it has forever. You can still find houses out in the swamp, but you can’t drive there.”

Shireen looked ahead, watching the approaching castle. The legends of this place were all consistent, but she didn’t want to seem a fool for not knowing. She couldn’t keep herself quiet, though. “Does it still move?”

Rickon smiled at the road ahead. “No,” he said. “It’s the one modification they made. It’s stable now, but they aren’t trying to fend off attacks anymore either.”

“Right.” 

They pulled into a petrol station before finding their place for the night. Rickon got out to start the meter, and Shireen left the car simply to stretch her legs. With so much moisture in the air, the bright lights seemed omnipresent around them. It was off-putting to know that there was so much hiding in the darkness beyond it.

“This place feels like it shouldn’t exist,” Shireen said.

“Believe it or not, even people here need to fill up,” Rickon said, leaning against the car.

Shireen rolled her eyes. “Not that,” she said. “It’s just… I feel like something’s going to attack us.”

“Lizard lions haven’t been spotted recently,” Rickon said evenly. “We’ll be fine.”

Scowling over at him, Shireen tried to understand how he was so calm about being here. Maybe it was the familiarity of it. With the burning lights above, it could have been daytime and she wouldn’t have known. It was just overcast. Rickon looked active enough that it might have been, and she wondered if she had slipped into a different world. There was no noise. They were too far from the city to hear any sirens or cars or the general populace, but Shireen couldn’t quite find the comfort in it.

Finally, Rickon yawned loudly, breaking the spell over her. “Let’s get going,” he said. “I need a bed.”

Shireen agreed, getting back into the car. Rickon continued driving as if nothing was strange about this place, as if he was used to driving on wet, dirt roads nearing midnight. When they rounded a corner, the headlights brought a massive building into view. Shireen waited for it to pass, but they continued straight for it. It was clearly a castle, though a lot smaller than most she knew of. 

Once they were right outside, Shireen realized what seemed odd about it. “We’re not _staying_ here?”

Putting the car in park, Rickon looked confused. “Uh, yes?”

Shireen looked to him with wide eyes. “This is the original castle!” she hissed out at him.

“And it’s kept as close to the original as possible,” Rickon confirmed. “You won’t ruin it just by sleeping there. Besides, people stay in castles all the time.”

“Renovated castles,” Shireen argued. She looked around at the stonework of the building and the strong wood of the doors. “Castles that have been remodeled for plumbing and air conditioning and… and…”

Rickon laughed, getting out of the car and going to get their bags. “And to think I’m taking you to Winterfell.”

“The museum,” Shireen confirmed quickly.

“And we’re staying in…?” Rickon prompted.

Shireen swallowed. Northerners had always prided themselves on being different—on following tradition. “A hotel?”

Laughing even louder, Rickon went to knock on the heavy door. “I’m a Stark, Shireen,” he told her. “I’m staying in my home.”

They were led through the castle, and Shireen couldn’t keep her eyes from glancing around at all the historic artifacts that decorated the halls. Rickon had to push her along a few times, eventually helping her into a room. He followed her in and placed down their bags before turning to the doorway.

The woman who led them through was still standing there, smiling. “We will have breakfast prepared in the hall, if you’d like to join us tomorrow morning,” she said. “I hope you sleep well.”

“Thanks, Jyana,” Rickon said. He winked at her. “I’ll get Bran to make Jojen call more.”

“Thank you, Rickon,” Jyana said. “I hear enough about his shenanigans from his sister.”

“Meera’s a blessing,” Rickon said. He gave her a small wave. “I’ll see you in the morning.”

Shireen was frozen in place, staring at him. She wasn’t entirely sure what she was supposed to do in this situation. Rickon seemed to be right at home, sorting through his bag and finding clothes to sleep in. He didn’t notice her concern in the slightest, simply walking behind a decorated room divider to change. When he came back out, he was wearing pajamas with cartoon characters on them. Finally, he looked up at her.

“Feel free to change,” he said. “I promise I won’t look.”

“We’re staying with your in-laws’ parents?” she finally managed to get out.

Rickon nodded. “They’re really cool,” he said. “They won’t say anything, not that they know enough to tell.”

Shireen sighed, looking around the room. Though the furnishings were old, the bedframes had two regular mattresses on them. The whole room was a mix of new and old things, as if Shireen had stepped into a world that inhabited many different eras at once. Her eyes settled back on the beds.

“Two beds?” she asked.

Rickon’s face turned red, and he turned around to face her. “I thought it would make you more comfortable,” he said. “The Reeds live in a small place, and they don’t have many rooms to spare. We can find separate rooms in Winterfell.”

“No, I only meant...” Shireen trailed off. She didn’t know where her words were going. Finally, she settled in on the thought. “Thank you… Rickon.”

Rickon’s eyes followed her around the room, and Shireen did her best to ignore him as she prepared for bed. When she was about to disappear behind the room divider, she looked over to him. He seemed to snap out of a reverie and looked down at his hands. “You’re welcome.”

With a smile, Shireen dressed for bed. Then, she spent a while looking around at the artifacts in the room, quickly judging when they were made. Brushing her fingers against the tapestry, she marveled at the craftsmanship required to make it. Slowly, she took steps backwards to find a seat on her bed. Shireen curled her feet in, turning to find the light switch. Glancing over to Rickon, she froze with her goodnight on her lips.

Rickon was lying on his side, a small notebook open in front of him. His eyes were downcast, as his fingers moved with slow, soft precision across the page. She couldn’t see his work, but she watched as he leaned his head into his palm. His fingertips poked out through his hair, scratching at his scalp. The line of his mouth grew tighter before his lips parted slightly.

Leaving the lights alone, Shireen settled into the sheets. She tossed about until she found a position where she could still watch Rickon as he worked. His eyes didn’t stray from the page, even when he carefully flipped it over and kept going. She wondered what he saw, what world he was bringing together in his mind’s eye. When she closed her eyes, she could still hear the gentle scratch of his pencil. When he finally closed the book and got up to turn off the lights, she was already asleep.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Picset](https://frozensnares.tumblr.com/post/166780436551/a-government-mandated-proposal-chapter-4)

Shireen stared out straight ahead, watching the trees flick by. The North had a much different feel from what she had known growing up, and it all was very foreign to her. The weather had taken a turn overnight. A storm had blown in and it was late enough in the year that it was snowing even though the worst of it was past. She had packed for the cold, though it was proving to be more than she bargained for. 

“Are you okay over there?” Rickon asked, giving her a cursory glance.

Nodding, Shireen quickly gave him a smile before looking back to the road. “Yup,” she said. “Just excited about it.”

It wasn’t the truth of the matter—not by a long shot. However, there weren’t words to describe what Shireen was mulling over. She didn’t know how to put into question what she most wanted to know. In fact, she didn’t even know if there was an answer. Her fixation was still on watching him, but she couldn’t do that now. It seemed weird to do now that she was awake.

“You just can’t wait to dig into my family’s history, can you?” Rickon teased, bringing her back to the present.

“It’s not about that,” Shireen protested levelly. She fixed her posture and pulled her hair over one shoulder. “Besides, I already know almost all of currently available information on the subject.”

Rickon raised an eyebrow at her. “Oh, really?”

Shireen took a deep breath in, rattling off the information she knew. “Winterfell Castle was built by Brandon the Builder, aided by giants, after the Long Winter, during the Age of Heroes more than eight thousand years ago,” she said, facing him directly. “There is significant evidence that it was added onto over the years as it is not on level ground, and it maintained a majority of its notable structures during rebuilding after the burnings it suffered—first, notably, by Kings Royce II and Royce IV Bolton before the Andal invasion of Westeros, and second by Ramsay Snow of House Bolton during the Battle of the Five Kings. Shall I go on?”

Nodding, Rickon said, “I’m impressed, but that was all information on where my family lived. I thought you wanted to know about individual members.”

Blinking at him, Shireen went on. “Before the Sack of Winterfell that was led by Ramsay Bolton, Theon Greyjoy killed two boys, claiming they were Brandon and Rickon Stark—your and your brother’s namesakes. The two were actually hiding in the crypts, and left in the aftermath.”

“Where did they go?” Rickon asked.

“Brandon Stark traveled north with wards of House Reed and the company of a stableboy named Walder,” she told him. “They went beyond the Wall to fulfill a vision of a greenseer.”

“And?” Rickon pressed.

Shireen rolled her eyes. Of course, he just wanted to know what she knew of his own namesake. “Rickon Stark was under the care of a wildling woman and they traveled to Skagos, where he managed to rally the support of the Skagosi and help win the war.”

Rickon hit his fist on the steering wheel. “I knew it!”

“Knew what?” Shireen said, giving him an odd look.

“I just knew that there was some stupid reason why my dad refused to let me go to Skagos,” he told her. He shook his head and changed lanes. “The other was easy to guess—no pets. As if we couldn’t piece that together. What happened at Skagos?”

Shireen opened her mouth, sorting through the information she knew. It wasn’t really her field of expertise. “It’s largely undocumented,” she said. “The Skagosi didn’t have a widespread written language at the time. While under the power of House Stark, they have few written documents that have survived over the years. After his disappearance, I next heard of Rickon Stark being retrieved by Davos Seaworth. He was of the utmost value to the war effort, uniting the north and bringing an army to the front lines. You are likely a direct descendant of him.”

“Darn,” Rickon said. “I was hoping it was way cooler than that.”

“He was a child,” Shireen said, laughing at him, “forced into maturity when his parents left him at no more than four-years-old. It’s a wonder he even held the North.”

“Who did he marry?” Rickon asked.

Shireen shrugged. “The records aren’t clear. It’s widely accepted that he never took a formal wife after living amongst Skagosi and wildlings for so long. They believe he had many spearwives.”

“So… how many bastard children did he have running around?” Rickon asked.

Pursing her lips, Shireen raised an eyebrow at him. “Are you trying to tell me something?”

“No!” Rickon said quickly. “Not at all! I just—I don’t know anything about my ancestors. I, uh, didn’t pay attention when my dad was telling me stories.”

Shireen laughed, reaching over to gently hit his shoulder. “I’m only joking,” she said. “We can’t be our ancestors.”

Rickon nodded, smiling. “Still,” he said, “it’s interesting to think about.”

They drove into Winterfell around noon. Shireen was positively bursting to the brim with excitement at finding material to write about. At Rickon’s insistence, they went off in search of lunch first. The experience was wasted on her. A pen and paper were out the entire time, and she kept jotting down notes. Rickon stopped talking coherently when he realized she wasn’t paying attention, though she did look up confusedly when he just spoke a string of random words. Then, he just laughed, pointing down at her little notebook.

“What’s in there?” he asked.

“Things to remember,” Shireen said. “Time does its damage, but some things can be consistent.”

Rickon smiled. “Are you ready to go digging?”

“Do I need a shovel?” Shireen asked.

“Only if we’re adding to the crypts,” he said. Standing up, he held out a hand to her. “Come on.”

They traveled to the main castle of Winterfell first, and Shireen marveled at its size. It was covered in a layer of snow, and she suspected that it looked much like it did during the era she was writing about. Rickon ignored the main road that pointed toward the museum and somehow located a single lane that led to the main structures of the castle.

“There’s only one way in and out,” he told her. “We passed the main visitor’s area—where the museum is—but all the stuff you want to see is over here.”

“Over where?” Shireen asked, looking around.

Rickon pointed with his chin slightly off to their left. As they rounded a corner, the trees parted to reveal the original castle of Winterfell. Shireen let out a small gasp, moving forward in her seat. Rickon put the car in park a short distance from the main gate, but he left it running to go place his hand on a scanner. He came back into the car as a drawbridge fell forward.

“Security,” he said. “Some of the crypts have damage from grave robbers over the years, so we’ve put in biometrics to keep as much rabble out as we can.”

“Smart,” Shireen mumbled, looking around. She was trying to soak in as much as she could just by being here.

Rickon slowed to a stop in a wide open area. “I’ll have Dad add you in soon,” he said. “It’s a bit of a process, though.”

“Oh, I couldn’t!” Shireen said, turning to him sharply.

He looked confused. “Why not?” he asked. “You’re part of the family now.”

“It’s only—I just…” Shireen didn’t know where the thought was leading. It felt odd to bring up the distance between them now. She sighed, looking down at her hands.

Rickon placed a hand gently on her shoulder. He took a deep breath. “I know it doesn’t feel like it happened,” he said evenly. “It doesn’t seem like we’re actually married, and you’re still welcome to divorce me if you’d like, but until then, I’d like to try to make this work, Shireen.”

Closing her eyes tight, Shireen tried to regain control of the wetness that was there. She slowly turned to him. “Thank you, Rickon,” she said. “It’s different for me. I’m used to being alone, but I think—I’d like this to work out as well.”

Smiling at her, Rickon gave her shoulder a light squeeze. He turned the car off and gestured outside. “Come on,” he said. “Let me show you around.”

Shireen all but demanded to be allowed to explore and learn on her own. She wanted to get to know the castle with her full understanding and she had the knowledge to make it through properly. Her only concern was that she didn’t know the layout and there was a distinct possibility of her getting lost. After several assurances from Rickon that he could get them back where they needed to be, Shireen set off to find every room and name them.

The distraction was greater here than it was at Greywater. From the first room she stepped in, Shireen wanted to look over every item and artifact. She wanted to list them out, discern their purpose, and put it to use in her paper. Rickon stopped her. He urged her forward, assuring her that there was plenty of time to peruse the collection at her leisure. Following a simple left-pattern search, Shireen made her way into every single room, hallway, and closet that Winterfell had to offer. Rickon confirmed all of the named locations, occasionally opening a door if it was locked. There were only a few, but Shireen guessed what they were before entering. By the time they made it back to the entrance hall, hours had passed, and it was getting late in the day.

“So which room would you like to stay in?” Rickon asked, finding a seat on a bench. He tapped the space next to him, and Shireen went over to sit at his side. “You can have your pick of what is in the main castle or the recently-added guest accommodations if you wish to keep the castle in its current condition.”

Shireen eyed him carefully. “Are you mocking me?”

“Of course not,” Rickon said. “But I also think nothing of moving things from room to room.”

Staying quiet, Shireen tried to pick something that Rickon wouldn’t expect of her. “Have you ever stayed in the Lord and Lady’s chambers?”

Rickon grinned at her. “No,” he said simply. “Would you like to?”

“Not as much as I’d like to visit the crypts.”

\--

Stepping down gently, Shireen followed Rickon down the steep steps that led to the crypts. He was going slowly, obviously trying to provide a human shield in case she went tumbling down the steps. He already had first-hand experience of watching her come close to it after watching her explore the castle. After all, she had forgotten exactly how uneven the steps could be in her excitement.

Now, everything seemed muted. There was no noise save for what they were making. Shireen kept her mouth sealed as she tried to see the edge of the beam of Rickon’s flashlight. When he finally picked a level to exit on, Shireen felt like she was allowed to breathe again.

“This is it?” she asked.

Rickon nodded. “You’ll find all the involved Starks of the generations you’re looking for here,” Rickon said. Then, his smile got wider. “Literally. If we wanted to, we could actually touch them.”

Shireen frowned at him. “No, thank you,” she said. “I do not need your ancestors cursing me. Though, I do have a question.”

“Ask.” Rickon stopped and turned to face her. He pointed the flashlight upward to give off ambient light.

“Why did you ask about the other Rickon’s wife?” she asked him. “You could just come down here and check for yourself.”

Rickon nodded. He offered her a hand, and she slowly took it. “Since he’s close to Lyanna anyway, how about a short detour?”

Shireen followed Rickon until they were standing in front of the tomb that Rickon Stark II rested in. She understood now. It didn’t take a word from him. The slab of stone that was previously carved with his name was all but ruined. She was scarcely able to read the _Rickon_ that she knew was there. The bottom edge of the stone proved that there may have been more to it, but Shireen’s guesses stopped at his years of birth and death.

“She wasn’t buried here,” Shireen breathed out. A weight had appeared in her chest. There was now a distinct possibility that Rickon Stark II had never been wed, but the thought that his wife didn’t care for him enough to be buried as a Stark carved a fresh wound into her. It was a horrible thought for her to cope with, especially given her situation.

To her great surprise, Rickon laughed. “What?” No, she’s definitely here.”

Shireen furrowed her brow. “Where?” She placed her hand over his, aiming the flashlight a short distance away to where the caskets of Eddard and Catelyn Stark were placed side by side. With some effort, she found another set. “Wives were buried with their husbands, Rickon,” she told him. “Her casket isn’t here.”

Rickon nodded. “True. Her _casket_ isn’t here,” he said. Then, he repeated her words back to her. “ _Wives were buried with their husbands._ ”

Slowly, Shireen’s mouth fell open. She took an involuntary step forward. Suddenly, she wanted to open up the grave site, become a grave robber herself, just to sate her curiosity. By Rickon’s words, she assumed that she would find _two_ skeletons in the single casket, but she didn’t quite believe it. There were absolutely no records that showed it was even a possibility for anyone of such high birth. It was entirely unthought of.

“Would you like to see?”

Shireen spun back toward him. She was offended that he would even suggest such a thing. Her pride in being a historian would not be besmirched simply because of her whims. There was no way she could allow the possibility of the words “grave robbers” be associated with her. She was having a hard time finding words to express this when she finally noticed the smile on Rickon’s face. There was something she was missing.

Leaning forward, Rickon said, “We have pictures from back when the whole place was excavated. I can show them to you.”

The great weight within her disappeared all at once. Suddenly, she felt foolish for never considering such an obvious possibility. “Please,” she said. “I’d appreciate it.”

Rickon smiled at her, leading her down to where the statue was erected of Lyanna Stark. It had also suffered much damage over the years, but it was easy enough to tell that a woman was there. The inscription was also in much better condition. Shireen crouched down, running her hands over it before giving the grave a full examination. She turned to Rickon for permission to move around it before she did, finding every curve herself. Fascinating as she found it, now there was another possibility for research picking at her brain.

“There’s not much here,” he said. “As I told you, we had a team of archaeologists do a full excavation of this place. Anything found was documented and put into storage. We have records, though. I just thought you’d like to see where her bones are.”

Finishing up, Shireen went back to Rickon’s side. She leaned slightly against his arm, finally taking it all in. “This means a lot,” she told him. “I know how hard your family has worked to keep academics and news reporters away, trying to keep records from getting muddy. I just hope that I can shed some truth on the matter. I don’t want to do any disservice to your family.”

Rickon leaned his head down until it was resting on hers. Then, he corrected her. “ _Our_ family.”

\--

 

Shireen felt like her head was spinning. It seemed that Rickon had a habit of pulling her feet out from under her, and she doubted that she would ever be prepared for it. He was so welcoming, so kind to her about her goals and helping her reach them. She couldn’t understand why. She didn’t deserve it. Her selfishness in getting to know him and accepting his help had little to do with him on his own. It felt dirty and muddled, and she didn’t like it one bit.

Somehow, she found herself sitting across from him at a small table. His arms were curled in front of him, obscuring most of her view of whatever he was drawing in a notebook. Shireen reached out, stirring her tea carefully so as to not make any noise.

They were in one of the guest houses. Shireen argued that it was for the sake of having a place to cook and bathe, but Rickon teased her endlessly about her fears of doing damage to the castle itself. To prove her point, she intentionally chose the smallest guest house available. However, this one also only had one bedroom. It also only had one bed. Neither of them had mentioned it, nor had they attempted to settle in or claim the room. They had both showered after eating, but they both seemed too stubborn to touch the bed. At least, Shireen had made an effort to make sure it still looked untouched.

Sipping gently at her cooling tea, Shireen pretended that she wasn’t massively interested in whatever Rickon was drawing. Already, she decided that she wouldn’t ask him or bother him while he was busy. She knew how much she hated when people hovered over her shoulder while she was writing, and she swore that she wouldn’t do that to him. Still, her curiosity was burning enough that she nearly jumped out of her seat when he announced that he was finished. 

“Really?” she asked.

Rickon nodded, swiping the edge of the page with his pinky finger. “Do you want to see it?”

Biting her tongue, Shireen nodded. She watched eagerly as Rickon turned the notebook to face her. She turned to see that the page was almost entirely covered in the graphite from his pencil. He had perfectly drawn out the passageway of the crypts, including the illumination of his flashlight and an exact image of Lyanna Stark’s statue. Shireen stared at it in wonder, trying to figure out how he memorized every crack in the stones and shapes with such a brief visit. The urge to reach into the drawing and touch everything consumed her, so she sat on her hands to stop that from happening.

“It’s beautiful,” she sighed out, looking down on it. “Oh!”

Her breath had turned the page over, and something entirely different was looking up at her. She never looked up, becoming enthralled in looking over the new image. It appeared to be a cracked landscape of some sort, like soil during a drought or clay in a desert. She would have thought that they were canyons if they weren’t so shallow. However, they had so much shape and dimension that she knew these crevices weren’t very deep. She just didn’t know where they were from.

“What’s this?” she murmured.

“While I was getting my M.F.A., my professor told us that we should keep a sketch book,” Rickon told her. “Our homework was to create one picture a day. The habit stuck, so now I just keep with it. It’s just anything that comes to mind. All of those are things outside of my real art, so to speak. They aren’t very good.”

Shireen gave him an incredulous look. She knew better than to flip through his sketch book when she didn’t have permission. And she wasn’t prepared for any surprises that might turn up. The thought still irritated her, though. “Not very good?” she asked. “I couldn’t make something like _that_.”

“Sure, you can.” Rickon chuckled to himself, flipping back to the beginning of the notebook to a series of very cartoonish drawings. There were a few basic figures along with well-known cartoons and simple drawings of nature and flowers. “All my sketch books start out this way,” he told her. “A blank one is just too intimidating. There’s too much pressure to make everything perfect. If the first few aren’t great to look at, you don’t care as much how the others come out.”

Smiling up at him, Shireen rested her chin in her hand. “You’re incredibly talented,” she said. “Have you ever considered doing academic art? Like for research papers?”

Rickon shrugged offhandedly. He closed his sketch book with the attached piece of elastic, tucking it away. “Not really,” he said. “It didn’t occur to me to try. Plus, don’t you prefer actual photography for that? It’s not exactly a strong suit.”

“While I’m sure Lyanna Stark’s bones are fine to look at, I think a proper illustration of her would be an excellent addition to my paper,” she said. Realizing how entirely selfish that sounded, she pressed on. “And I’m sure everyone studying war and fighting styles could use illustrations that show the flow of battle, much like your Battle at the Trident. The military formations, ancient castle layouts… I’ve never found paintings that were accurate to my research. Given the opportunity, I think a fair number of people would jump at it.”

“I’ll consider it, I suppose,” Rickon said. “I may have mentioned that it wasn’t exactly a serious career choice. But I’m glad you approve.”

Shireen tried to brush it off. “Well, I have pulled you away from your studio for this trip,” she told him. “And I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t thoroughly impressed with what I’ve seen.”

“Thank you,” Rickon said. He fiddled with his phone to check the time. “We should head to bed. I imagine you’ll want a full day in our archives?”

“I’ll take whatever you’re willing to give,” Shireen replied, trying to give him a sweet smile.

Rickon stood up, stretching out. Shireen waited for the pivotal moment when the bed would be mentioned. It was going to happen soon. It had to. Getting up herself, she went to wash her teacup, cleaning it out and trying to not watch Rickon’s every move. He disappeared from sight soon enough, but Shireen heard noise that he made as he moved around. When she dried off her hands, she turned back to find Rickon curled up on the couch.

“Really?” she asked.

Rickon grinned at her. “You’re the one that picked the one-bedroom house,” he said. “I just assumed that it wasn’t an invitation to cuddle.”

“I mean, you didn’t have to take the couch,” Shireen tried. “I’m smaller… besides that, you can… The bed is plenty big. I mean, I trust you.”

Rickon’s smile softened. “Good,” he said. Still, he burrowed into the couch, closing his eyes. “Goodnight, Shireen.”

There definitely didn’t seem to be any way to argue with him further. There also wasn’t any point in refusing to sleep on the bed. At this point, it would just go to waste if she didn’t. Circling the room, Shireen turned off the lights. She made her way into the bedroom, settling in for the night. Sleep came surprisingly easy, even though the temperature dropped significantly as night fully settled in.

The cold sent Shireen into a deep sleep, and she had a full night of sleep without interruption. Sometime in the night, a heavier blanket was placed over her, pinning her down with the comfortable, warm weight of it. It was enough so that Shireen didn’t want to move in the morning. She was eventually roused from her slumber by the buzzing of her phone. Moving as minimally as possible, Shireen retrieved her phone, looking at the contact quickly before answering a call from Devan.

“Hello?” she muttered out, trying and failing to sit up.

“Shireen?” Devan asked. “Where are you? I thought we were getting breakfast today?”

“Shoot,” she mumbled, waking up a bit more. “I’m sorry, Devan. I completely forgot.”

Devan chuckled into the line. “It’s alright. Are you just going to be late? We can do brunch?”

Shireen rubbed a hand over her face, trying to make sense of the situation in her state. “No, I can’t make it,” she told him. She was trying her best to keep the sheepish edge from her voice, but she was positive that Devan knew her well enough to hear it. She decided to press on. “I’m in Winterfell.”

“Winterfell?” Devan asked back. “Why?”

“I started another paper.”

Devan laughed. “So you just booked a trip out and ran with it, huh?” he guessed. “Well, there’s no stopping you now. Enjoy the trip! I’ll let Edric know that our lunch is postponed. Just give us a call when you get back.”

“Definitely,” Shireen said. She could already feel the effects of sleep slowly fading away, and she missed her opportunity to keep herself in a good bed. “Give Desmera my best. I’ll see you soon.”

“Alright,” Devan said. “Goodbye.”

“Bye.” Shireen stared down at her phone. She swiped away all of her notifications, making sure that none of them needed her immediate attention. Eventually, she noticed the time. She had slept in far beyond her usual time, and she needed to get dressed to head out to the archives for the day. Wrapping herself in a blanket, Shireen stepped out onto the cold wood floors. She needed to let Rickon know that she would be ready soon.

“Rickon?” she called, peeking out from the door. The room before her was empty. The blanket on the couch had been folded into a neat square, but there was no sign that Rickon had been about this morning. Pulling the blanket tight around herself, Shireen stepped out. She looked around quickly. “Rickon?”

Seeing no sign that he was anywhere nearby, Shireen made for the front door. Outside, it was much colder than she expected. A deep layer of snow covered Winterfell overnight, and everything was painted white. The cold air filled her lungs, but Shireen felt none of it. She was too concerned about figuring out where Rickon was, and she hoped that he was okay.

There was only one clear way to go, so Shireen headed off, looking around for Rickon. The loose snow crunched under her feet, but Shireen payed it no mind as she pressed on. She rounded the corner of the guesthouse, searching for a sign that Rickon was nearby. When footsteps appeared alongside her, she briefly worried that someone else may be in the area, but the thought was pulled from her mind. A vibrant red caught her eye as she kept on, simply following the color. After a while, she stopped, staring up at the face carved into the massive tree before her. She sucked in a deep breath.

“It’s a weirwood,” she whispered, walking forward to put a hand on the tree.

“Shireen?”

Spinning around quickly, Shireen was snapped out of her musings and suddenly became aware of her state. There was ice grinding under her foot, a sharp chill spreading through her body, and her fear had dissipated into exhaustion when she heard the familiar voice. “You scared me,” she said, wrapping her arms tighter around herself.

Rickon shook his head at her. “What were you doing wandering?” he asked. “You’re going to give yourself pneumonia.”

“Not that,” Shireen said, brushing past the point. Her pulse was still pounding in her ears, and she felt like she needed to catch her breath. “You were gone.”

A brief look of confusion passed over Rickon’s face, and he gave her a small smile. “Come here,” he said firmly. “Let me take you back to the house.”

Shireen nodded, but she didn’t move her feet. They felt largely unresponsive, even though she could still feel them. Rickon walked over until he was right in front of her. After a moment he simply bent down to pick her up in his arms, and Shireen felt acutely aware of the ice slipping away from the bottom of her feet. Somehow, it felt colder now.

“You’re going to lose your toes like this,” Rickon said, starting back to the guesthouse. “What were you thinking?”

Shaking her head, Shireen let herself rest against his shoulder. “You were gone, and I thought something might have happened to you,” Shireen mumbled out. “I just wanted to know you were safe.”

“I actually put boots on,” Rickon told her. He stepped through the door Shireen left open, taking her all the way to the bedroom. “You should at least take precautions. Go get your feet in warm water. I’ll make you some tea.”

Shireen nodded. She stayed bundled up in her blanket until the bathtub was halfway full. Then, she simply piled everything on the floor before sinking down into the water. The warmth immediately seeped into her body, sending a rushing, prickling sensation through her legs. Shireen sighed, letting the tub fill up around her. Nothing seemed to be in danger of frostbite, nor did her lungs feel like they were struggling to get air. Still, she rubbed her hands over her legs until she was certain that everything was okay before she washed up quickly.

Once she was fully dressed and better prepared for the snow, Shireen left the room to find breakfast spread out on the table before her.

“What’s this?” she asked, looking over to Rickon.

He was bringing a small kettle to the table, placing it on top of a towel. He bit his tongue as he pulled his hand away. “No offense intended, but you seem the type to get lost in your work,” Rickon said evenly. “I thought breakfast would be a good idea since lunch might not happen.”

“I brought snacks,” Shireen offered sheepishly.

“Still not a meal,” Rickon pointed out. He pulled out a chair before taking a seat across the table. He grabbed onto a fork before gesticulating at her with it. “Let’s eat and then you can spend as long as you want in the archives.”

Shireen shrugged out of her heavy coat, slowly moving down to take a seat across from Rickon. He was serving himself a plate of food. On a glance up, he shot her a quick smile before handing her the tray of bacon. Reaching out across the table, Shireen took the tray. Her mind was full of thoughts from before, all crashing together to form this instant. Somehow, too much had happened, and Shireen felt that this wasn’t what the outcome should be. The rocky beginnings of this friendship weren’t supposed to cumulate into this. The feelings bubbling up inside her weren’t supposed to be forming _now_ of all times. Ignoring it as much as she could, Shireen started in on her breakfast, focusing on the archives she would soon be exploring.

\--

 

“Hey, look at this,” Shireen said, moving onto her knees to move the book closer to Rickon. 

He glanced up from his own musings, leaning over to look at where she was pointing. Grabbing onto the edge of the book, Rickon tilted it toward the light to read her findings. His lips moved as he read under his voice, and he slowly started smiling. “I thought you were supposed to be reading information about Lyanna Stark.”

Shireen snatched the book away, flipping over a few pages. “ _I am_ ,” she insisted. She pressed down the page protector, flattening it against the document she was reading. “I just thought you might be interested in the information.”

Rickon pursed his lips, narrowing his eyes at her. “You want to figure out who Rickon Stark II’s wife was,” he said evenly.

There was a beat of silence as Shireen’s mouth opened. She carefully closed her mouth before looking down at her book. “I have no particular investment in the matter,” she said dismissively. “Although, I will say that it will make a great paper.”

Laughing, Rickon went back to unboxing more artifacts. Early on, Shireen decided to ignore him completely. He took little to no precaution in handling them and she couldn’t bear to watch any accidental breaks. She simply read on, absorbing as much information from the documents available as she could. She was happily tucked into a small corner of the archives, wrapped in a blanket that Rickon retrieved for her after they realized how cold it was in the massive room. Still, she was reaching the end of her current supply of documents, and the limited information on Lyanna Stark was making her more distracted by other information she found. She ate up information about the closely related members of the Stark family, hoping that something would connect somehow or lead her to more information. Also, she couldn’t help but jot down anything she found that might lead to the identity of Rickon Stark II’s wife.

Shireen finished up her current reading with a loud sigh before tucking her documents away with the others. While all of the information she gathered was plenty interesting and contained a decent amount of speculation about the going-ons of Lyanna Stark, nothing was substantial enough to write a full paper on. Shireen carefully put everything back where she found it, glancing over to a nearby storage area. She pulled out a small sealed scrap of torn parchment. Flattening it out, Shireen squinted at the paper to read the faded inked words on it. There were only a few with quite a bit of space between them vertically. It looked as if the letter had been torn leaving only the left-most margin of the page. Shireen took her time to read out the words _wed Robe—, my only, deci—,_ and _Eli—_. Though some of the words were cut off or lost to wear, Shireen suspected that her guess as to what they were was correct.

“Rickon?” she called. Her eyes caught on the date of the paper, and the thought was sparking into a flame faster than she could keep it contained.

He slowly walked over, stepping around rows of boxes. “What’s up?”

She handed the scrap over to him. “What’s this?”

Angling the paper to the light, Rickon read off the tag on the paper. “ _Found fragment of a letter, hidden between pages of a book at Winterfell, dated approximately 280 AC, origins unknown_ ,” he read. Taking a deep breath, he went on. “ _The inscription on the letter reads:_ wed R-O-B-E, my only, D-E-C-I, _and_ E-L-I.”

Taking quick steps toward him, Shireen tried to get him to the same conclusions that she drew. “Wed…?”

“Robert,” Rickon finished. He gave her an even look. “Baratheon? Arryn? There were loads of Roberts.”

“And?” Shireen pressed.

He rolled his eyes. Licking his lips slowly, Rickon gave the paper a long look. Eventually, Rickon let out a long breath of air, setting the paper back down. He tapped it firmly with a finger. “So when are we going to Dorne?”

With a huge grin on her face, Shireen excitedly jumped forward to hug Rickon. She was overwhelmed with the thought that he was not only willing to accompany her, but that he would include himself in her studies so fully. The thought of continuing on this pursuit without him just didn’t have the same appeal, and she was glad that she didn’t have to suggest it herself.

They were packing up to depart from Winterfell not long later. Shireen needed to log her findings and start a framing for her paper. Rickon also had a few works to finish up and a meeting to schedule with someone who had commissioned him for work. Shireen was carrying their new snacks for the ride back south. She strategically placed them in the backseat so she’d have easy access to them. Rickon was carrying out the last of their bags, when he froze mid-step and dropped the pack. Opening her eyes wide, Shireen turned around to face him.

“Is everything okay?” she asked.

“We need to postpone the Dorne trip,” he said abruptly. “Just by a day—it’s super important.”

Shireen blinked at him. “That’s fine,” she said. “Can I ask why?”

Rickon leaned down to grab the bag, only mildly suppressing an eye roll. “ _Because_ ,” he started, closing the back of the car after placing the bag inside, “a week from now is Halloween. I can’t spend all of Halloween driving to the bottommost tip of the continent.”

“Do you still dress up?” Shireen asked.

“Obviously,” Rickon said. He winked at her. “You should see what I can do with face paint.”

“Sounds promising,” Shireen said, getting into the car.

Rickon drove them off the property and started on their way back before Shireen decided to press the issue further.

“Ever worked with a ruined canvas?” she asked.

“Yup,” Rickon said flippantly. He mentioned it as if it were common.

Shireen was only mildly confused. “You get people with deformed faces?”

“What?” Rickon asked. He quickly glanced over to her. Then, he let out an audible sound of dissent. “You’re not still on about that, are you? Regardless of how great it would be for costuming purposes, it’s really not bad to look at.”

Shireen scoffed. “While I’m willing to understand that you may have become accustomed to it, you also had a rather… _notable_ reaction to seeing it for the first time.”

This time, Rickon pulled over completely just to give her an unbelieving look. He fixed his gaze directly into her eyes for a solid few seconds. Then, he put the car back on the road before saying, “I’m an _artist_ , Shireen. Haven’t I at least proven that much?”

She sat back, trying to remain civil. “Yes.”

“And can’t you think of any other reason an artist might be interested in it?” he asked.

She shrunk back a bit more, intentionally avoiding eye contact. “Maybe…”

Rickon laughed. “Good,” he said. “I’ll take what I can get. Now, where do you want to stop for lunch?”

The ride back was pleasant. They maintained amiable conversation the entire time, learning more about each other as they drove. Only the persisting thought that they were already married bothered Shireen. Having started this journey as mere acquaintances, and possibly ending it as friends, made the thought that they were already married poke at her incessantly. She almost couldn’t wrap her mind around continuing to pursue their relationship when the milestone was already behind them.

Still, she allowed herself to admit that she genuinely enjoyed his company. Rickon knew how to enjoy comfortable silence, a trait she always admired about herself. He’d occasionally spout off thoughts so quickly that she had trouble keeping up, but he would calmly repeat himself for her. Shireen was fully aware of her growing attraction to him, though she kept it largely to herself as they finished the drive.

Rickon dropped her off at her home late that night, automatically leaving the car to fetch her things for her. By now, Shireen knew better than to try to stop Rickon from doing something he already decided on, so she simply followed him as he walked up to her front door.

“You’ve got a nice place,” he said, eyeing the entrance.

“Thanks,” Shireen said, digging for a key. “It’s probably still a mess inside… I didn’t bother to clean.”

Rickon laughed, throwing his head back. “I wasn’t trying to get an invitation,” he told her. “I just wanted to see you safely inside.”

Latching her fingers onto the piece of metal, Shireen pulled out her key. “Well, I think I can manage from here,” she said. “Thank you, again, for letting me visit your family home.”

“Anytime,” Rickon said. He gave her a soft smile.

The heat rushed to her face. Shireen could feel the intimacy of this situation. She knew how these scenes usually played out in movies, even though this situation was far from a scripted romance. Hiding her blush, Shireen worked at unlocking her door, muttering out her goodnights to him. Just as the lock clicked, Rickon leaned into her and pressed a quick kiss to her temple.

“Goodnight, Shireen,” he murmured against her hair. “Sleep well.”

Shireen turned to watch him head back to the car, strolling casually through the streetlights. Before he could disappear into the car, she called out, “Goodnight, Rickon.”

He lifted a hand in acknowledgement before getting inside the car.

Shireen lingered on the doorstep, justifying everything that just happened to herself. Sometime later, she remembered that she still needed to enter her house. Pulling the key from the lock, Shireen blindly reached out for her suitcase. She slowly entered, glancing behind her to see that Rickon had idled on the curb to watch her make it safely inside.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Picset](https://frozensnares.tumblr.com/post/166814694331/a-government-mandated-proposal-chapter-5)

Stepping lightly on the balls of her feet, Shireen carefully opened the closet to peek inside. She parted the hangers to look at a particularly colorful outfit.

“Get back here!” Rickon called. A loud clattering followed this. “I’m not done with you yet.”

Shireen hurried back through the aisles to take her seat at a table that was laden with paintbrushes and multitudes of color. She did her best to look as if she had never moved. She feigned innocence. “So you just keep all of this year-round?”

Rickon scoffed. He carefully dipped a fine tipped brush into watery greyish-blue ink. “What do you expect?” he asked, swirling the colors around. “I’m not going to get rid of it year after year. That’d be a waste.”

He gently extended a hand to her, and Shireen sat forward in her seat. Rickon pressed his fingertips against her neck, sliding his thumb along her jaw to angle her head the right way. Then, he carefully moved the brush over her cheek. For the most part, she couldn’t feel anything. Sensation on that side of her face had long been gone, but the bristles occasionally hit the edges of her flesh that could sense it. That alone sent her nerves haywire.

The proximity didn’t help. She tried to keep her eyes closed or pointedly looking away. Nothing stopped her from feeling just how close Rickon was. Shireen was acutely aware of his breathing, noting whenever he held his breath while painting over her face. He also had a habit of biting his tongue and his lips while he worked. His eyes looked even brighter with so much focus, the green of them looking more intense.

His eyes flicked over to meet hers. Shireen held her breath, trying to think nothing of it. After a short moment, Rickon glanced down and pulled his chair closer to hers. He intentionally pulled his fingers through her hair, moving it away from her face. Then, he started painting across her hairline. Shireen could feel the sensations even stronger now, and she tried to steady her heartbeat, knowing that he was likely to feel it anywhere he touched.

Rickon carefully worked his way over her entire face, gently painting across all of her features. He only met her eyes a few times more, never keeping his gaze there for long. Considering how obviously cold the paints felt on her face, she guessed that the change in temperature whenever she blushed was more than obvious to Rickon. He never made any mention of it. Keeping his concentration on his work, Rickon finished with her face, painting down her neck and softly over the available skin of her chest. Shireen briefly thought that he would have just kept going if she was wearing nothing. Shaking the thought from her head, Shireen tried to sit still until he was finished.

When he finally pulled away, Shireen let out the breath she was holding. Rickon washed off his brush, closing up the paints he had opened. Shireen placed a hand over her wrist, trying to discreetly determine her heart rate.

“What do you think?” Rickon asked, holding out a mirror facing toward her.

Instead of taking the mirror from him, Shireen put her hand over his to angle the mirror properly. She looked over the miracle that he had performed on her face. Somehow, he had entirely transformed her appearance. The paints made her look otherworldly and slightly haunted, as if she had just awoken from a sheet of ice, on the brink of hypothermia.

“It’s amazing,” she said, unable to keep the wonder out of her voice. She looked up at him. “Are you going to do yourself to?”

Rickon grinned at her. “Obviously,” he said. “I’ve done this one before. It shouldn’t take long. You can go change upstairs.”

“Upstairs?” Shireen asked.

“Yeah,” Rickon said, separating out his paints. He gestured to a door at the back of the room. “It’s my apartment, too. I set out your costume up there.”

Shireen blinked at him, unsure how to process this information. He had never made a mention of his living arrangements, and she hadn’t expected it to be where he worked. For the past few days, she had made a habit of doing her research in his studio, enough so that he cleared a space for her to work in his historical sections. All she noticed was that she was surprised at how many people stopped in to look at his work or ask about having work done for them. They almost never noticed that she was there, or they might have assumed she was just another customer. However, somehow, she had missed any hint that Rickon might have been living here.

Hesitantly, she opened the door he signaled to, cracking it open and finding a flight of stairs going up. Shireen glanced back, finding Rickon leaning over the table to paint at his own face with one eye squeezed shut. Before she could convince herself otherwise, Shireen went up the stairs, making sure to close the door behind her. At the top of the stairs, there was a single, plain brown door set slightly ajar. Shireen pushed it open to find a small living space.

“It’s clean,” she said without meaning to. Perhaps he had plans to invite her up and knew that he needed to make the space presentable. Somehow, Shireen didn’t believe it. After seeing the levels of cleanliness in his apartment, she felt extremely uncomfortable with the idea of inviting him back to her place. All of her surfaces were covered in her work: papers and books scattered everywhere, empty water bottles on bits of surface available, and a sizeable pile of dishes in the sink. She simply didn’t know how to manage her time well enough to clean between her projects. She couldn’t even convince herself to eat at regular times every day.

When she finally found a slightly unkempt corner of his living room, she breathed a sigh of relief. It was enough for her to finally look around for her costume. It was spread out over his kitchen table: a simple, shapeless dress, a small headpiece, and shoe covers that had been painted around the edges to make it look like they were freezing over. Picking them up, she explored enough to find a bathroom to change in, finding that the entire outfit was comfortable and easy to move in. She caught her reflection that she had been avoiding and realized that she looked even more ghostly than before. 

With so much white on her, she seemed to be complete frozen over, like she should be dead or dying. Leaning over the sink, Shireen closely examined the paint on her cheek. Now, with the colors blending into her outfit, she saw the full effect of what Rickon had done. Somehow, he made it look like shards of ice were covering her face, reflecting bits of her dress and headpiece, even loose strands of her hair. She was beyond impressed with his work. 

Bundling up her clothes, Shireen went to find a safe place for them. She located a chair next to a small table that had a small sketchbook next to it. It was opened to a page that looked vaguely familiar to her. Putting her clothes down, she carefully lifted the book to examine the page. It looked like it was one of his daily drawings, though the date on it was from quite some time ago. Shireen read over the date, wondering why it seemed important. 

Then, she took the book into the bathroom on a whim. Scrutinizing the drawing, she carefully held up the book so she could see the image in the mirror, covering her face. Then, she brought the book down. It was frighteningly similar. With some experimentation, she found the exact angle that matched the pattern drawn in the book to the pattern emphasized by the painting on her face. Instinctively, she wanted to remove the face paint to see exactly how accurate it was. Pushing the thought away, Shireen walked the book back out, taking one last look at the image and rereading the numbers of the date again.

She placed the book back where she found it, not knowing what to do with all this information. Closing the door partially, Shireen started back down the stairs when a voice drifted back up to her.

“Yeah, definitely,” Rickon said, voice somewhat hushed. “Sure. I’ll text you beforehand. I gotta go. Someone’s here. Bye.”

Shireen stepped down faster, thinking that he meant her. However, before she reached the bottom of the steps, Rickon started talking again.

“Sorry about that,” he said. “Just another project I’m working on. You didn’t need this for another couple months, right?”

“Yeah, it’s for February. I just didn’t know how long this usually takes.”

Shireen held her breath. She _knew_ that voice.

“It varies,” Rickon replied. “It depends a lot on my workload, so I usually recommend two months in advance. You’re only a little early.”

Shireen waited for a response. She wanted to confirm her suspicions so she’d know if it was safe to come out. Instead, she dug for her phone that she had hidden in a pocked under the dress, typing up a text message. Before she could convince herself to text Edric, she found herself scrolling back through her calls. She stared down at an old call she made to Beth dated the same as the drawing. Shireen blinked, forgetting what she was supposed to be doing. 

“I’d rather be early,” the customer said, laughing. “Will’s gonna love it.”

“Husband?” Rickon guessed.

 _No,_ Shireen thought automatically. She put away her phone. _Not_ Will. _It’s Willow_.

“Willow, actually,” came the reply. “I thought it’d be a nice anniversary present.”

Shireen smirked to herself. Of course Edric had somehow managed to find her husband to arrange something for Willow. Standing up straighter, she caught herself. They were technically married, but they were a bit far from husband and wife.

Rickon laughed at that. “I generally do portrait for anniversaries,” he said. “A literal interpretation is much more uncommon. I can work with this, though. What size are you looking for?”

There was some shuffling of papers. “Um, like a large poster size? We have a bit of space to work with,” Edric said. “But like, pretty big.”

“Thirty-six by twenty four?” Rickon asked. A small scraping sound came from the room. “Like this? Landscape? To spread out the branches?”

“Yeah, definitely,” Edric said. “I trust your judgement here. I mean, if you can paint a tree as nice as your face, then Wills will thank me forever.”

Rickon laughed even louder. “I typically do better when I’m not relying on mirrors.”

“I look forward to it, then,” Edric said. “Thanks, man.”

“I’ll give you updates as I get to work on it,” Rickon said. “How surprised do you want to be about it?”

A small moment of silence followed this. “Pretty surprised.”

“Alright, when it’s done then,” Rickon said. “I’ll give you a call. Any need to use code words?”

“Nah, she won’t check my voicemails,” Edric said.

Rickon laughed. “Gotta make sure,” he said. “Alright, man, I’ll see you later.”

“You bet,” Edric said. “Thanks again.”

Shireen waited for the sound of the door swinging closed and a room of silence before walking out. Though she was trying to make little sound, Rickon heard her.

“Perfect,” he said loudly. “Come. Let me do your fingers now.”

“It looks amazing,” Shireen said. She took careful steps over, trying to get a peek at his face. “You don’t have to go through all this.”

Rickon shrugged, unscrewing some paints as she sat down. “Are you kidding me?” he asked. “It’s a Halloween party. We have to dress up.”

“It’s a staff meeting,” Shireen said. “At most, it’s just an excuse to get drunk.”

Shaking his head, Rickon turned to face her. She froze in surprise. His paint was done to compliment hers exactly. While he wasn’t as fully frozen as she was, he also looked like he was about to succumb to hypothermia. His lips were tinged blue and purple, and he had done something to his hair to make it look lank with wet weight and starting to gain frost.

“That’s incredible,” she breathed out.

Rickon turned around quickly, looking behind him. “Oh, this?” he said. “It’s a simple thing for me. Lots of snow where I grew up. Familiar. Basic colors. Just add the dead, sunken edge to it and it really creeps people out.”

Rickon shrugged quickly and grabbed at her hands, starting around her fingertips and working his way up her arm. He worked with such focus, and Shireen was trying to keep herself from moving. After he finished up, he grabbed a large container of what looked like dust and unscrewed the lid.

“Close your eyes,” he instructed.

Shireen obeyed, and felt a large, fluffy brush go over every inch of her exposed skin. He liberally brushed the dust all over her face, neck, arms, and hands. Then, he went through the process again.

“So, be super careful for a couple minutes,” he said, “But you should be good to go about like normal now. It’s a setting powder and translucent, so it’ll just add to the ice effect if it sticks anywhere.”

Blinking slowly, Shireen opened up her eyes. Everything felt normal, but she was tempted to rub at her face just to test it out. Instead, she placed her hands on her lap, watching Rickon put everything away. She cleared her throat gently. “So Edric wants a willow for Willow?” she asked.

“Yeah,” Rickon said casually. “Something big, I’m thinking from a low perspective, so it looks like you’re under the tree, lots of colors bleeding through, maybe like sunset or something.”

“Willow would prefer sunrise,” Shireen said. “She’s a morning person.”

Rickon nodded. “Good to know,” he said. He continued on putting his supplies away, cleaning off his brushes and setting them out to dry before turning to her sharply. “Wait, what?”

“For Edric and Willow,” Shireen said.

“Keep going,” Rickon said, squinting at her.

Shireen smiled, leaning on her hands. “I heard the end of Edric’s request,” she said. “I thought you might appreciate more information.”

“Oh no, I do,” Rickon confirmed. “Really. How do you know this? You know them?”

“I’ve known Edric forever,” Shireen said. “We’re cousins. My dad took him in after his mother became a raging alcoholic.”

Rickon blinked at her. Then, he grinned. “Oh, this is perfect! You can tell me if I’m doing it right!”

Shireen laughed, standing up. “I don’t think you need help there,” she told him. Then, gesturing largely at everything, added on. “You do amazing work.”

“Thanks,” he grinned. Rickon spun around to the back door. “I’ll go change real quick and we can head out.”

It didn’t take long for Rickon to appear again, wearing a complimentary outfit to hers. He looked like he was in disheveled semi-casual dress, mostly frozen over like she was. However, he refrained from putting on any sort of footwear. Then he gathered up their things and led her outside. He took time locking up, and escorting her down to where her car was parked.

“So my dad called,” Rickon said, relaxing in the passenger seat.

Shireen glanced over quickly. “Anything to be worried about?” 

Rickon made a small, annoyed sound. “Apparently, the Stark family has been keeping a secret, hidden vault away from us,” he said.

Quickly, Shireen pulled over. “You’re getting my hopes up,” she said. “If this ends on a low note, I’m going to be _very_ disappointed.”

“You’re not,” Rickon said. 

Shireen stopped breathing.

“My dad has the original letters that Lyanna Stark wrote for her family that were never sent to Winterfell.”

Shireen’s jaw dropped. “You’re _joking_.”

Rickon shook his head. “Apparently, the other Rickon Stark sent an envoy to Dorne, not a serious journey, no correspondence with the liege lord, no banners or sigils showing… just recon,” he explained. “They were sent to find any possible information on what happened just at the start of Robert’s Rebellion. They found a stack of letters addressed to the Starks of Winterfell that were never sent. Upon, their return to Winterfell, the letters were sealed away, hidden to anyone by the king and queen. No one knew about them soon after, as they were safely guarded. I didn’t know about them until I mentioned finding something funny back in storage.”

“Please tell me we can go see them,” Shireen said.

Rickon sighed. “Though my father assured me that they were properly filed and catalogued, I don’t quite believe him,” he said. “So we may need to find a safe way to keep the materials safe and do a good amount of nagging about getting them for use in your paper.”

Shireen groaned. “Forget the paper,” she said. “I just want to _know_.”

“Yeah, me, too,” he said. “You’ve made me very curious about the matter.”

Shireen smiled, sitting back to put the car on the road again. “You’re welcome.”

After dropping that on her, Shireen really didn’t want to go attend a staff meeting that quickly devolved into a drinking party. Her colleagues at the university were fine enough, but she had been away from teaching positions for so long that she was mostly there as a friendly gesture. Most of them knew that she was off for research and wouldn’t be back for a while to come, but she received a lot more attention than usual due to her costume.

Rickon called them frost giants, despite being no larger than normal, introducing himself as a reference for something she was working on and immediately derailing all conversation that might have made sense to follow. He seemed much closer to that of a college student rather than a researcher or professor, and a lot of people weren’t shy about calling him childish when they thought he couldn’t hear. Shireen had no doubt that he heard every word of it, though, especially when he asked to leave early.

“What kind of Halloween party on a college campus doesn’t have any games?” Rickon asked, walking across the lawn with her.

“One attended by adults only,” Shireen supplied. “Or did you forget who my colleagues are?”

Rickon sighed. “I just hoped that they would let go a little more.”

“Not much support on this side of academia,” she told him. “Or maybe just here. It’s mostly arguing via publications and trying to get the scoop before anyone else. Much too competitive.”

“That doesn’t sound appetizing,” Rickon said. “And you’re doing this forever?”

“I’m working my way out into unemployment, actually,” she admitted to him. It was something that she had never written down or spoken aloud, but she had mulled it over too many times to count. Somehow, strolling through the grass with Rickon dressed like a specter seemed like the perfect time to solidify her potential resignation. It felt safe.

“Why?” Rickon asked, turning to face her.

Shireen shrugged. “It’s just too competitive,” she said. “It’s not exciting or fun anymore. Like this paper. I like it, but I’d like it more if I wasn’t doing it just to prove someone wrong.”

Rickon smiled at her. “Good,” he said. “You’re happiness is important. Come here.”

Tugging on her wrist, Rickon spun her in toward him. She let out a small yelp before coming to a stop against his chest. Smiling down at her, he slowly started rocking them side to side. With a small hum, Shireen relaxed, letting him lead her around the courtyard. Around them, the air grew damp with fog as night fully set in. The glow of streetlights kept them partially illuminated, though the light was spread out and low.

From somewhere off in the distance, someone gave a small shriek before running off. Rickon tightened his grip on her, looking up over her head. His mouth twisted before he started giggling.

“I think there’s a possibility that we may make a feature in the school paper,” he said, amusement clearly shaping his words.

“What story do you think they’re going to go with?”

Rickon thought about it for a while. “Lost lovers frozen to death after escaping their families to be together.”

Shireen made a slightly disgusted face. “That’s very cliché.”

“You asked what they’d go with, not what I’d prefer,” he said. Reaching down, he grasped her hand in his before starting the way back to the car.

“What story do you prefer?” Shireen asked.

Rickon slowed to a stop, turning to face her directly. He gently tilted her chin up with a finger, making her meet his eyes. “The true one.”

“Everything exactly as it’s happening?” Shireen asked, caught by his bright eyes.

“That depends,” he said slowly. “What’s happening?”

Shireen sucked in a quick breath, reaching up to hold his hand where it was pressed to her neck. “I’m falling in love with you,” she mumbled out. “And I’m scared.”

“That’s silly,” Rickon replied, inclining his head toward her. “There’s no reason to be afraid. We’re already married.”

“Then is it time for us to kiss?” Her voice was just a whisper, soft enough that she wasn’t sure he heard her.

Regardless, Rickon inclined his head toward hers. He slid his hand behind her neck and gently pressed his lips to hers. He didn’t move, didn’t try to deepen the kiss in any way, but a soft sigh blew over her face when he pulled away.

“Is it weird if I mention that you taste like paint?” he asked.

Shireen giggled before leaning up onto her toes to kiss him again.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Picset](https://frozensnares.tumblr.com/post/166840691781/a-government-mandated-proposal-chapter-6)

They started going on dates after that, regularly, after some insistence from Rickon that they go out every night. Shireen convinced him not to have it be every night, but she still spent most days in his studio. Currently, she was reading through the small collection that he had compiled as his own research for creating portraits of Lyanna. It was good, easy reading, but Shireen felt like they were suffering from a lack of references that she desperately wanted.

Her potential for distraction was also greater here. Rickon had a lot of books, and he gave her free access to all of them. Whenever she needed to take a break from her current research, she found herself reading anything she could about Rickon Stark II. His life had much more documentation than Lyanna’s did. Somewhere, there _had_ to be a mention of his wife.

Rickon was sitting before an easel, headphones on as he painted across it, when a slim girl with long red hair walked in. She had the obvious air of having been here before, automatically shuffling through some paintings.

“I’m here for some art,” she announced.

Without turning around or removing his headphones, Rickon said, “Get out, Sansa.”

Her mouth dropped open, and she walked over to Rickon with heavy steps, pulling at his headphones. “Is that any way to talk to a paying customer?”

“Paying?” Rickon asked. He set down his brush, wiped his cheek, and turned to face her. There was a smear of green over his face. “Are you paying me now? That’s new.”

“I’ve given you so many customers!” she shot back. “It’s great publicity for you.”

Rickon narrowed his eyes before turning back to his painting. “You have a very odd idea of what money is,” he said. He put his headphones back on, keeping one ear exposed. “Now, if you don’t mind, I’m busy.”

Sansa rolled her eyes, letting out a loud groan. “Just point me toward your modern, geometrical pieces.”

After a few seconds, Rickon waved toward a general section of the studio. Seemingly satisfied with this, Sansa went off, flicking through the canvases.

Shireen sat quietly at her seat. They didn’t seem to know that she was still there. Hopefully, things would stay that way. Sticking her nose back in the book, she tried to stay invisible and mind her own business. Unfortunately, the woman Rickon called Sansa was intent on talking.

“So we haven’t seen you since your birthday,” she said.

“Been busy,” Rickon said, ignoring her as much as possible.

Sansa hummed lightly. A few more paintings were flipped over. Then, “It was your twenty-fifth.”

“Get out.”

“Come on!” she said, rounding on him. “It’s been months!”

Rickon put down his materials, finally standing up to face her. He looked like a giant standing over her, arms crossed tight over his chest. “Remind me again who waited five years before anyone knew about _her_ legal marriage?”

“That’s different,” Sansa defended.

“Sure is,” Rickon spat out. He took even steps toward her. “You actually had respect from your siblings about your personal life choices. Now, take what you want and get out.”

Sansa huffed, leaning down to look at more paintings. “I’ll have Sandor send you a check,” she said, still shooting him looks. “It’s tax deductible anyway.”

When she turned back to focus on a painting, she met Shireen’s eyes. Quickly, Shireen lifted the book, intent on reading.

Sansa frowned. “Who’s that?”

“I’m lending her my research,” Rickon said, not bothering to look over. “She’s just here for the books. And you were about to leave.”

With a loud groan, Sansa turned about with about five paintings in her hands. “Where are your business cards?”

Rickon pointed with his chin to the stack by the table near the front door.

“Thanks, little brother,” Sansa said sarcastically, lifting the paintings up higher. She walked slowly to the door with Rickon glaring at her all the while. Shuffling her things around, Sansa bent over to grab a small stack of his business cards before heading out the door backwards.

Rickon stared after her for another full minute. The tension coming off of him was so intense that she didn’t want to say anything. After a while, Rickon walked over to his storage of materials, placing his hands on a few different things before grabbing onto a sponge and squeezing it tightly in his fist. Then, he flung it across the room as hard as he could.

It bounced gently off the front window, and Shireen slowly turned back to Rickon. He was hunched over his supplies, holding onto the edge of the table so hard that his knuckles were white. Rather abruptly, he let go, quickly heading toward the door that led to his apartment. His footsteps were heavy on the stairs until a door slammed.

Shireen kept still, feeling like her movements would disturb whatever was happening with him. 

Something shattered loudly. There was a brief reprieve before several more objects shattered apart. If she tried hard enough, Shireen could hear the shards falling to the floor like rain before it became quiet again. Finally, quick steps came down the stairs as Rickon came down with only his small sketchbook in hand.

“Okay, so in odd news, I’ve run out of dishes and need to acquire more,” he announced.

Shireen knew better than to laugh. There were still waves of tension rolling off of him. Considering that he had never mentioned anything about his siblings other than their general existence, this was likely something to be concerned about. She settled on a bland “Okay.”

Rickon pulled on a jacket, shoving his arms through and checking his pockets. “Maybe find a thrift store for new ones… or a pottery place and I can paint my own,” he mused. “Better if they’re identical, though… easier to replace…”

Shireen nodded in agreement. She quickly shut the books in front of her, making sure to walk them back to where she found them. Then, she followed Rickon toward the front door. His hand was outstretched toward his keys when he froze.

“I’m stuck here,” he muttered out. “I can’t go anywhere. She’ll be in town for a while… I’m stranded.”

Blinking at him, Shireen scowled. “You can come to my place.”

Rickon slumped to the floor, looking defeated. “I couldn’t impose on you like that.”

“We’re married,” Shireen reminded him. They brought it up more often now, mostly when the other was acting a bit ridiculous, no matter how valid their reasons for it were. It was never used to pressure the other into anything; just a reminder that their situation could be a lot stranger.

Rickon nodded into his hands. “Yes, which I specifically didn’t tell my sister, so of course, she comes asking about it!” His hands clenched into fists. “She came all the way down from the Rills, too. I intentionally moved out here to get as far away from them as possible. My family hates the capital.”

“Then let’s get away,” Shireen said, taking charge of the situation. “She knows nothing about me, has no reason to look. We can stow away at my place for a couple of days.”

He just looked at her for a long moment, as if trying to figure out if she was serious. Then, he quickly leaned forward to peck her on the lips. “I really did luck my way into having a good wife,” he said. “Do you think she’ll see us if we hurry?”

Rolling her eyes, Shireen grabbed his hand and pulled him out the door. “Let’s find out.”

Snagging his keys, Rickon quickly locked up the studio completely before hiding in Shireen’s car. She didn’t even have the heart to tease him about it. He still looked extremely stressed out. In fact, the tension didn’t dissipate at all when they reached her place. Rickon just about ran inside, found a room far from the front windows, and curled up on a chair before he started drawing in his sketchbook.

Shireen left him be, going to prepare a plate of snacks. In the past few weeks, her apartment had become much cleaner. Spending time with Rickon had relieved a lot of the stress in her life. It was easier now for her to think about how to continue forward without her job because she had finally left the university. She was assured that everything would be fine, but there was so much to worry about. Right now, she had other worries, though. Rickon obviously needed help. So she gathered up her usual snacks and brought them out a plate for him. She placed them down on the coffee table, watching Rickon sketching furiously over the armrest.

He quickly glanced up at her, giving her a quick smile. “Thanks,” he muttered. The doorbell rang and the smile vanished from his face. “Who’s that?”

“I don’t know,” Shireen said, standing up to head to the front door.

“Wait!” Rickon called out, grasping for her wrist. “Don’t answer it! It’s probably Sansa.”

Shireen gave him an unbelieving look. “It’s probably not.”

“What if it is?” he said. The panic was rising in his voice. The doorbell rang again. “She doesn’t know I’m here. What if she saw me come here? Pretend I died—No. Wait—I need to… Okay. So I will… pass out, but you don’t need to call an ambulance, okay?”

Shireen reached forward, placing her palm on his cheek. “Rickon, I’m not going to let a stranger in here,” she told him. “Sister or not, I don’t know her. Okay?”

He nodded, and she tried to give him a comforting smile before she went to the door. Before she left, Rickon hid even further behind the couch. Taking even steps to the door, Shireen tried to remain calm when the doorbell rang yet again. Flicking on the outside lights, Shireen unlocked the door. The moment it was open, someone pushed in past her with heavy steps.

“Do you want to explain this?” asked the familiar voice of her father.

Sighing, Shireen tried to ignore Stannis’s tendency to be overdramatic and brash whenever things happened without his knowledge. She briefly wondered what she had done to concern her father now. He certainly didn’t know about her marriage, and he hadn’t come round hers in the last few years without a warning. Looking up, Shireen examined the envelope he was brandishing at her. It was addressed to her with a stamp the read _RETURN TO SENDER_. Reaching out, Shireen took the envelope before she recognized the problem. It was addressed to her office at the university—the university where she no longer worked.

Taking the letter as casually as possible, Shireen gave her father a smile. “Thanks for hand-delivering it,” she said. “You know, if you address them to where I live, they’re more likely to get to me.”

“I thought it’d be relevant to your research,” Stannis said. His lips were stiff with the movement.

Shireen furrowed her brow, opening it up. “More old Baratheon artifacts?”

“Of a sort,” he said. “Your latest publication had a few errors in the estimations of the financial matters of the Stormlands. I did the math myself to assist you.”

“You didn’t have to,” Shireen said. She walked toward the kitchen, reading over his figures. “Unless my margin of error was particularly high, there’s really no need to address the matter. I specifically stated that it was an estimate, and I was fairly close.”

Stannis didn’t look relieved in the slightest. If anything, he stiffened up even more. He opened his mouth, before swallowing resolutely. There were both standing by the kitchen table now, but they both refused to sit.

Shireen gave him a terse smile. “Is there anything else I can help you with, Father?” she asked. “I’m typically more prepared for your visits.”

His eyes narrowed at her, and his mouth tightened into a thin line. “Perhaps you could address why this was returned to my mailbox.”

“That’s no longer my address,” Shireen said simply. She started rummaging through her cupboards for something to eat. “I expected that to be a bit obvious. Would you like to stay for dinner, Father?”

“No, thank you,” he said. Stannis still looked like he was struggling with a difficult concept to grasp. “If you could provide me with your current mailing address, I’ll be on my way.”

“This is my mailing address,” Shireen said. “I assume you still have it, given that you arrived here, but I could write it down again if you’d like.”

If possible, his stance grew even more rigid. “Your _work_ address.”

Shireen tried to give him a sweet smile. “I’ll be sure to pass it along once I’m given it.”

Stannis’s eyes slowly grew wider as the realization dawned on him. “You’re _unemployed_?” he asked, entirely unbelieving. “Were you sacked?”

“No, I wasn’t sacked,” Shireen said, hiding the annoyance in her voice. “I quit. I’ve recently found that it wasn’t productive to my research being there, and arguing with colleagues was preventing me from completing my research without bias. I wished for a more convivial environment for my skills.”

While she stated it with as much confidence as she felt about the decision, the words weren’t hers. Rickon had agreed with her and given her most of those to think of as her own. She just hoped that her father had been away from her long enough not to notice that it was slightly off coming from her mouth.

Stannis’s eyes slowly narrowed at her. “You’re married.”

“Legally? Yes.”

“To whom?”

Sighing, Shireen left the room to find Rickon looking up curiously from her couch. He looked a bit too scared to say anything. Shireen gave him a warm smile. “Would you like to meet my father?”

“Right now?” Rickon asked. The fear that any of his family members were here had completely vanished. Instead, he looked a bit optimistic about it. “I guess.”

“No need to tell him anything that isn’t his business,” she said, leading the way. “He should be leaving shortly.”

They walked back to the kitchen, and Shireen only just realized that Rickon was still wearing his paint-stained clothes from earlier. She briefly thought of asking him to change before she realized that it wouldn’t be worth it.

“Father,” she said, walking back into the space. He was still standing, arms crossed tight over his chest. “This is my legal husband, Rickon Stark.”

Rickon came forward with a grin on his face, arm outstretched. “Pleasure to meet you.”

Stannis stared at his hand for a few moments before slowly grasping it. He didn’t focus on Rickon, though. Instead, he turned to Shireen. “And you’re living together?”

“Not at the moment,” Shireen said. “Rickon is here for dinner. We’re, um, dating.”

“Dating?” Stannis asked. “After being wed? That’s ridiculous. I should have found a way around this.”

Shireen ground her teeth, trying to stop the reply from coming out sharp. “I don’t need your permission for this, Father.” She wasn’t succeeding. “We made this choice together, and we are happy with it so far. I don’t see how it’s much different from your arranged marriage.”

“Happy?” Stannis asked. “You’re content being unemployed while wed to this—this—”

“I’m an artist,” Rickon supplied, tone still bright, “and I’m quite happy being with your daughter as we are.”

“Your concerns are not mine, boy,” Stannis snapped back.

Shireen felt the fury rising higher in her. She had expected something like this ever since deciding to wait for her government-issued husband. It was hard enough for her to deal with. Her father—who had an arranged marriage—would have a harder time coming to terms with it. His marriage ended in divorce after his twenty-fifth birthday. Any chance he had for a “soulmate” from the government was gone. Still, she refused to let him squander this for her.

“His concerns should be,” she spat out. “Whatever your opinions are, he is my husband, and a part of this family. If you don’t wish to be part of this, then you know where the door is.”

Stannis seethed in silence. He took steady steps past her to the door. “I’ll reach out to my contacts,” he said.

“I don’t want a divorce,” Shireen told him.

Stannis’s eyes flicked over to her. “They’ll be contact if they have any career opportunities for you.”

Shireen blinked. She hadn’t been expecting that. “Oh,” she said, deflating a little. “Thanks.”

“And I expect a proper meeting soon,” he added on. His hand was resting on the handle of the door, but he seemed to be struggling with the thought. “We’ll share a meal when we are both prepared for it.”

Watching her father leave, Shireen tried to sort through everything that had just happened. She knew that her parents were never happy with their marriage—that they both lost their opportunity to find out if they even had someone else who could have been in their lives. However, she largely expected her father to have a much more extreme reaction.

When she came back into the kitchen, Rickon was sitting at the table, grinning at her. “He seems nice.”

Shireen snorted, trying to figure out how that exchange ended with the word _nice_. “He just accused you of making me quit my job,” she reminded him. “And implied that I would have been better off with an arranged marriage.”

Rickon shrugged. “He’s just worried about you,” he said evenly. Standing up, he walked over until he was in front of her, reaching out to slide his hands over her hips. “I’ll bet he wouldn’t have minded if my job sounded like I could support a wife and kids.”

“ _Artist_ doesn’t sound terribly promising,” Shireen agreed. She leaned forward to rest her head on his chest.

Rickon leaned down, breathing into her hair. “It was nice to hear that you don’t want a divorce, though.”

“Why would I?” Shireen asked.

Squirming a bit, Rickon looked down at her. “We’ve just never discussed what might happen… later.”

“I suppose,” Shireen said. “I think divorcing my soulmate is probably the wrong decision, though.”

His smile grew wider. “Do you believe it, then?” he asked. “We’re soulmates?”

“I’d be crazy not to,” Shireen said. She wrapped her arms around him tighter, pressing her face against his chest. “This… It seems impossible that you’re still here.”

“I’m not leaving,” Rickon said firmly, holding her firmly. “I love you.”

Craning her neck, Shireen tried to look up at him. “What?”

“You heard me,” he said. “You’re stuck dealing with me until there’s a divorce on the horizon.”

“No!” Shireen said quickly. “Not that—Just—I…” She swallowed hard, trying to convince herself to say it back. It shouldn’t have been difficult. She had been thinking about it for a while. Rickon looked a little bit confused, though. She stretched up to her toes, making her lips meet his for a brief moment. “I love you, too.”

The look didn’t quite leave his face. Rickon just bent down, grasped her thighs to lift her up, and placed her on the counter. Then, he took her face in both hands and kissed her firmly. Shireen sighed against his mouth, pulling at his shirt to get him closer to her, even at the risk that she’d fall off the counter. The proximity made that seem impossible. Rickon was fully between her legs, and she could feel his chest and stomach pressing against her every time he took a breath.

“I’ve been waiting for this,” he whispered against her ear. Rickon moved to start kissing at her scars, making sure that he didn’t miss any of her skin.

Shireen tried to catch her breath. “We’ve kissed before,” she told him, trying to keep her head on straight. “Lots of times.”

Rickon chuckled. “Not that.” He pulled away, looking down at her. “Hearing that you love me… I’ve _seen_ it, but _hearing_ it… I could stand for that happening again.”

“You hadn’t told me either,” Shireen said. “What stopped you?”

“I didn’t want to make myself look like a complete ass in front of my brother,” he said, laughing into her shoulder. “You looked like you wanted to murder me that day. I couldn’t very well profess my love to you.”

Shireen smiled, easily recalling how awkward their first meeting was. “Did you tell anyone?”

“Yup.” Rickon smiled at her. He gently kissed her again before leaving the room.

Shireen was dumbfounded. Sliding down from the counter, she tried to follow Rickon out, but he was already coming back with his sketchbook in hand. He sat down at the table, inviting her over. She slowly took a seat, wondering if he was going to admit to drawing her scars.

“I told it to myself,” he said. Indeed, he opened the book to his very first drawing of her scars. Then, he turned the pages. More drawings of her scars followed, at different angles and closeness. A few pages looked like they were supposed to start as something else, but he ended up drawing the same pattern over them. Gradually, his perspective moved out, and Shireen was soon looking at portraits of herself from every angle and with every facial expression possible. “Over and over again. Each and every day. I reminded myself that I had you.”

Stunned, Shireen tried to get feeling to return to her fingers. She felt like she couldn’t move. Somehow, Rickon had removed her soul and placed it into his drawings. After a moment, Shireen realized that this wasn’t even his usual sketchbook. He had started one solely to fill with pictures of her. Moving slowly, she went to hold his hand, sliding their fingers together.

“Let’s get married,” she said.

Rickon laughed. “We are married,” he reminded her. “But I’d be willing to do it again.”

Laughing, Shireen leaned over to kiss him again. After a short moment, Rickon pulled away again.

“It’ll definitely change up meeting my dad,” he said. Rickon put on a mock voice. “ _Hey, Dad. My wife wants to write a paper on Lyanna Stark. Can we have your papers?_ ”

“Will he agree?” she asked.

Rickon made a face. “He better, considering what I’m going to ask him after.”


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Picset](https://frozensnares.tumblr.com/post/166881473311/a-government-mandated-proposal-chapter-7)

Shireen didn’t quire agree with Rickon’s plans to ask his father for anything else. She was only after information and didn’t need anything more from him or his family. After all, Rickon had already gone above and beyond her expectations for this relationship. She didn’t bring it up, though, partly because Rickon refused to hear a word of her argument. However, it was mostly because they were standing outside a large home just thirty minutes away from the historical Winterfell estate.

Right now, she didn’t even have it in herself to ask Rickon why he hadn’t mentioned that his parents were so close when they had come up to visit months ago. She wasn’t even sure she wanted to know the answer. She definitely didn’t want him to knock on the door. When he turned around to grin at her, she felt her hand grow heavier with the weight of the ring he had placed there. The first ring from their marriage was still hidden in a drawer. It still didn’t have any meaning for her. But Rickon had specifically picked this one out for her, and he put it on her hand himself. She cradled it to her chest, hoping beyond hope that this encounter wouldn’t end as his first with her dad.

“I’m here for information only,” Rickon announced loudly, stepping in when the door was opened.

Frowning at him, his mother pulled him into a hug that he protested, stepping back to bring Shireen forward. She waved with her right hand, tucking her left into her pocket.

“You brought your colleague,” Eddard observed, walking toward them with a steaming cup of coffee in hand. “I have NDAs for you to sign.”

“Actually, Dad,” Rickon started. He raised his voice to be heard over his mother closing the door. “Shireen isn’t my colleague.”

Eddard scowled at him. “Where are they, then?” he asked. “I’m not going to allow anything without the proper documentation signed and archived.”

Rickon sighed, turning to his mom. “Can you make him stop?”

“This is a serious matter,” Catelyn told him. She crossed her arms over her chest, going to stand next to her husband. “The Starks have protected this secret for years. We can’t allow unaffiliated parties to be privy to our knowledge.”

“Oh,” Rickon said. He cleared his throat awkwardly. “Well, she’s the one writing the paper.” He pressed on past his father’s disappointing look. “But it’s not a breach in confidentiality because she’s also a Stark.”

Catelyn’s face lit up, but Eddard simply scoffed. “Can’t be,” he said. “I have our complete lineage documented.”

Catelyn looked like she wanted to slap her husband. “Ned—”

“Dad,” Rickon said loudly. He reached into Shireen’s pocket to pull out her hand. “She’s a Stark because we’re getting married.”

He presented her hand forward, and Shireen tried her best to stop herself from blushing. This was much more attention than she wanted. The only thing that would make this better would be hiding into Rickon’s side, but their position made that impossible.

“You proposed?” Catelyn asked. She came forward, wrapping Rickon up in a hug. Then, she gave Shireen one as well. “I expected you to wait like your siblings did, but this is lovely.”

Quickly, Rickon pulled away. He turned Shireen around and started back to the door. “That’s it,” he said. “We’re leaving. Come on, Shireen.”

“What happened?” Eddard asked. “That’s no way to act. You just got here!”

Shireen kept her lips shut, following Rickon back to the door. He furiously flicked the locks open. “My own parents can’t even remember how old I am,” he muttered out. “Thought Sansa would have sent up the alert herself.”

Behind them, Catelyn gasped loudly. Then, she started sobbing.

Rolling his eyes, Rickon turned back to his parents. “What?”

“He has a soulmate,” Catelyn sobbed out. “Our youngest child is married.”

Shireen finally giggled, looking over at Rickon. He still was massively annoyed with the whole situation. “I am going to commit murder,” he said under his breath.

Shireen nudged him in the ribs. “You can’t do that,” she said. “We have a wedding to plan.”

“Fine,” Rickon agreed, steering them deeper into the house. “But I did warn you that this would happen.”

“You did,” Shireen said, “and we still have papers to read.”

“Right,” Rickon said. “Hand them over, Dad.”

Both of his parents looked affronted. Finally, Eddard got his bearings. “You only just got here,” he said. “Let us meet her first!”

“Shireen, parents. Parents, Shireen,” Rickon said quickly. He held out a hand. “Papers.”

“We should have expected this,” Catelyn said. She sighed loudly, wiping off her eyes. “I’ll go make some tea.”

Rickon did properly introduce Shireen to his parents once they were seated properly with a large, locked box in front of them. Nervous as Shireen had been about meeting his parents, she was completely eager to be finally looking through the papers that her last few months of research had been focusing on. She reminded herself to stop bouncing in her seat several times as Rickon unlock the box. He carefully pulled out a thick stack of parchment.

“Don’t drop them,” Shireen warned, trying to keep the edge out of her voice.

“Yeah,” Rickon said sarcastically, “because my hand is _so_ unsteady. Here.”

Shireen took the stack from Rickon, placing it on the table in front of her. Pulling at the string that held them all together, Shireen held her breath as she took the topmost paper. Then, her ingrained habits kicked in and she started reading ravenously. When she was three letters into the stack, Rickon interrupted her.

“Hey!” he said, reaching for her hands. “I wanna know, too.”

Absently, Shireen handed him the papers she was already done with. “I’m finished with these,” she said. “You can read them.”

“Already?” Rickon asked. His wide eyes shifted between her and the read papers.

Scoffing, Shireen went back to the papers in front of her, scribbling notes as she went. “Take them whenever you’d like.”

She read with surprising speed, only slowing down when the story of the letters started coming out more than standard pleasantries. For a few pages in a row, she even forgot to take notes, going back to piece the story together slowly. Just as she expected, the choices made by Lyanna Stark were far from the publicized story. It was fulfilling just knowing the story itself, and she didn’t want to breach the privacy of the Stark families by publishing any of it without their permission.

“What?” Rickon nearly shouted. He was a few letters behind her, and he only just got to the relevant letters for her paper. “Did you read this?”

“Yes,” Shireen said, waving him away. She pointedly held up her pencil and paper. “And I’m not done yet.”

With an annoyed sound, Rickon rushed out of the room. He was obviously in search of his parents. “Why don’t people know about this?”

“Because it’s none of their business,” Eddard replied calmly.

Shireen shook her head, ignoring the conversation. Her focus needed to stay solely on her reading. Even now that she wasn’t writing for the sake of her paper, she was still stuck on learning the complete truth of matters. It was what had drawn her to studying history in the first place. Her notes were impeccable, full of citations from the dates and noted documentation on the papers themselves. 

She was fully immersed in work, picking up the pace now that she was getting toward the end of the stack. Then, Rickon came back into the room, followed by his parents.

“You can work anywhere, Rickon,” his mom was telling him. “Does it have to be so far away?”

Rickon fell back into his seat, reordering the papers in front of him. “Well, we’re still trying to figure things out,” Rickon said. “I mean, I’m mobile. I can go wherever. We’re just waiting for Shireen to figure out where she’s working next.”

Eddard gave her a confused look. “You’re unemployed?”

Shireen set down the last of the papers, finishing her notes and quickly scribbling out a few things she needed to remember. “For the moment,” she said. “I’ve gotten a few offers, but nothing that sounds like I want to do it for too long… I’m trying to find a position that I can be comfortable in for a while.”

“You’re… a historian?” Catelyn asked.

Nodding, Shireen set her papers aside. “I was working at a university down south, but the environment wasn’t very nice.”

“What kind of work do you do?” Eddard asked, taking a seat at the table.

“Mostly, this,” Shireen said, shrugging. “Generally, it’s extensive research, compiling information, writing out papers, going through the peer-review process, and publishing. Of course, I won’t be publishing this.”

Rickon’s parents exchanged a look, as he leafed through the papers again. Eventually, he tied them back up and placed them back in their box. Instead, he simply grabbed Shireen’s notes and read through those instead. Shireen tried to stay focused, but now that the bulk of her research was done, she didn’t know what to focus on exactly.

“You know, there’s a position available with the museum system up here,” Eddard said. “I could put in a good word for you.”

“Oh, I couldn’t,” Shireen said. “Besides, I’m about to be related to you. Isn’t that a legal issue?”

“None of us handle hiring,” Catelyn said. “We’re shareholders and owners, but we have no other influence. You could apply.”

Rickon hummed, leaning into her side. “We’d have to move up north, then,” he said. “It’s good work for you, though, if you want.”

Shireen turned to him, whispering, “Shouldn’t we talk about it, though?”

Rickon nodded. “Oh, definitely,” he said. “Don’t let them pressure you into anything. They spent way too long trying that with me.”

“Rickon!” Catelyn scolded.

“Nothing she doesn’t already know,” Rickon said, shrugging it off. He closed up the box, standing up. “Got everything you need?”

Shireen nodded.

“You’re not staying?” Catelyn asked. She went to the doorway, as if stopping them from leaving the room would affect them.

“We have other things to do,” Rickon said. “Another stop back at the castle, the museum, probably the crypts…”

Shireen turned to Eddard. “I promise that I will keep these notes safe and protected,” she said. “No one will see anything from it before you do. I have all my documents password protected, not to mention that I—”

“She’s done this before,” Rickon assured them. “Didn’t you do the Tyrell’s?”

“Yup,” Shireen nodded. “Everything had to be approved by their matriarch.”

Rickon smiled at them. “We’ll get it done right,” he said. “But we really do need to go.”

With a small struggle, they did manage to leave the Starks before getting back on the road. Rickon immediately started complaining about it, but Shireen quickly brought him back down as they drove back to Winterfell Castle. Even though it was approaching spring, there was still a thick layer of snow on the ground, and Shireen anticipated that it would start falling soon.

At the gates, Shireen’s phone started vibrating, so she dug through her purse for it. Willow was calling, and she answered the call as Rickon left to go open the gates.

“Hello?”

“Hey,” came Willow’s response. “I’ve been bothering Edric to call you, but as things always go, I have to do it myself.”

“I couldn’t have told you that,” Shireen said, smiling out the window. “What’s up?”

“The kids have been begging to see you,” Willow said. “Even Mina keeps mentioning that you haven’t been around as often. Come stop by for dinner.”

“Oh, I’m so sorry, Willow,” Shireen started. “I really can’t—”

“Shireen,” Willow said firmly.

She drew back from the phone, feeling like a lecture was coming. Sure enough, Willow started ranting at her.

“Just because you don’t have kids or a husband does not give you an excuse to drop out of our lives,” she stated. “Even Edric and Devan say that they haven’t seen you as much. We need to get together—have some bonding time. You’re godmother to two of them! Come on. I’m letting the kids make a menu and you are going to come around for dinner tomorrow.”

Sighing, Shireen tried to work through the situation. Rickon had parked, and he gave her a concerned look. Shireen gave him a weak smile, gesturing that she’d be a minute. He reached over to squeeze her hand, leaving the car.

“I’ll be around for dinner,” Shireen said, hoping to get her point in.

“Perfect!”

“ _But_ ,” Shireen said loudly, needing to be heard. “I really can’t do tomorrow. I’m up north for research.”

Willow sighed. “Honey, you work way too hard for that job of yours.”

Shireen winced. She struggled to find words. “I, uh, I’m not working at the moment.” 

“You _just_ said you were doing research.”

“I am,” Shireen said quickly. “But, um, not with the university. I sort of quit.”

Willow was silent.

“Wills?”

“I’m sorry, did you just say that you _quit_?”

“I did,” Shireen said slowly. “It’s partly why I’ve not been around much. I promise I’ll tell you everything soon, okay?”

“You better,” Willow replied. Then, she groaned. “I gotta go. Lila’s calling for homework help. We’ll see you soon?”

“Yeah,” Shireen said. “I’ll let you know when I’m back.”

“Good,” Willow said. “Edric said he’s going to invite a friend over, too.”

“No, Willow, you can’t—” Shireen tried to protest, but the line was already dead. Why did they choose to take action now of all times? If they were seriously trying to set her up, then bringing Rickon with her wouldn’t be a good option. She considered texting back and telling Willow that she was going to bring someone, but that would just give everything away. Somehow, she needed to convince Edric that inviting his friend over was a really bad idea.

Slowly, she left the car. Rickon was standing a few meters away, stuffing his phone in his pocket. “Client,” he said shortly, explaining the phone. “Everything okay?”

“Yeah,” Shireen said slowly. “Just getting invited to dinner with my friends and their kids.”

“Nice,” Rickon said. “Can I come and finally introduce myself to them?”

Shireen kept her expression even. “It’s just a little bit more complicated than that.”

“Okay,” Rickon said. He took her hand, bringing it up to kiss her knuckles. “Later, then.”

That was perhaps one of the things Shireen loved the most about Rickon. He didn’t often press for details. He simply let her exist however she wanted to. If she gave him more information, he was okay with it, but he never asked her anything beyond that. A few times, he would, but she always knew that it was because he was teasing her. Shireen couldn’t stop this from eating at her, though.

“It’s going to be the most awkward dinner ever,” she said before they even got back to the storage area.

Rickon gave her a quick glance. “Why’s that?”

“I think they’re trying to set me up with someone,” she said, rolling her eyes.

At that, Rickon laughed. He pulled her closer to him, pressing a kiss on her cheek. “Oh, that’s going to be hilarious,” he said. “Please can I come? We just need to show up late to make sure the other person is already there.”

“I was actually planning on going early so I can explain everything to them,” Shireen said.

Rickon shrugged. “Then, just call them and let them know.”

“They will be furious,” Shireen said. “I definitely can’t do that. If I don’t tell them in person, they will take it as a personal slight.”

“Oh, friendship,” Rickon said. “Well, you just do it however you need to. I can keep myself busy for a dinner without you.”

As Rickon paused to unlock the door, Shireen quickly leaned over to press a kiss to his jaw. He smiled as he completed the task, inviting her inside. Shireen skipped forward, going to where she knew the materials she needed were. Rickon immediately detoured, and Shireen smiled after him. She already knew that he would leave her alone while she worked on her research, so she just started working through what she needed, finding the section labeled with the years she was working in.

She already knew what she was looking for. She pulled out the relevant files to fill the remaining gaps in her notes. Picking up the documents, she walked them over to an empty table, taking a seat before them. 

Quick footsteps sounded behind her, and Shireen turned just in time to watch Rickon throw a blanket over her. Giggling, she dug her way to an edge, keeping the blanket around her. Once her head was exposed, Rickon gave her a quick kiss.

“Warm enough?” he asked, grinning at her.

“You’re warmer than a blanket,” Shireen said, leaning over to kiss him again.

“I’ll stay, if you want,” Rickon offered. There was a devious glint in his eyes. “I can be your personal blanket.”

Shireen stuck her tongue out at him. “You’re going to distract me, aren’t you?”

Rickon groaned dramatically, dragging his feet as he walked away.

Smiling, Shireen went back to her work. Really, there wasn’t much more work to do regarding the paper on Lyanna Stark. The letters had given her the bulk of the information that she needed. However, she had a lot of information that she still wanted to know regarding a particular unknown wife of a certain Rickon Stark. All of her outside information couldn’t give her much solid information, especially since it seemed that names weren’t often included on letters following the wars. At least, not the official notices sent from Winterfell.

She was compiling every scrap that she could, trying to ignore the coming dinner that she was going to have with her friends.

\--

The dinner came anyway. Shireen wasn’t happy about it, but Rickon teased her about it the entire time. During the interim time, he had been invited out with a friend the same night, but much later than she was expected. It allowed plenty of time for Shireen to be teased by Rickon about being set up by her friends. By the time she arrived at Edric’s house, she had rehearsed what she wanted to say to them several times. Her ring was safely hidden on a chain around her neck, and she took a deep breath before she knocked. Naturally, she forgot everything when she stepped inside.

A small, tanned girl opened the door for her and immediately crashed into her legs. “You’re early!”

“Hi, Lila,” Shireen greeted, crouching down to give her a hug. “Where’s your momma?”

“MOM!” Lila shouted into the house.

Lila grabbed Shireen’s hand, pulling her inside. Shireen was swamped in hugs and greetings, automatically being pulled into games with Lila and her younger sister Sera. Even though Edric and Willow were around to talk to her, the children kept her occupied to the point where she felt too awkward about bringing up their plan. Even the arrival of Devan, Desmera, and their children didn’t give her any openings.

It wasn’t until they were preparing to sit down for dinner that she brought it up.

“By the way,” Shireen said loudly. She knocked her hip against Willow’s to get her attention. “I’d appreciate more warning next time you guys try to sucker me into meeting someone.”

“Almost seven years,” Desmera said. Devan and Edric had conveniently disappeared under the guise of helping their children get seated. Desmera tucked her hair behind her ear, grabbing a stack of plates down. “That’s way too long for you to be sitting about single.”

“You guys were part of this?” Shireen asked, shooting Willow a look.

She shrugged. “Edric kept mentioning this friend, and that he thought you would get along. It’s not going to hurt for you to meet them.”

Shireen stepped forward, digging through the drawers for silverware. “I think I should get a say in when I’m forced to meet someone, though,” she said. “It’s not like I’m not doing things.”

“Well, are we going to mention the unemployment?” Desmera asked. “Come on, girl. You’ve gotta be stressed about that.”

“Not actually,” Shireen said. “I think it’s been really good for me.”

Willow laughed. “You hated your colleagues.”

Shireen leveled a look at her. “They were the literally worst,” she said. “And now, they’re someone else’s problem.”

They all shared a laugh, carrying the platters of food over to the table that was packed with extra chairs. Just as they were finishing up, the doorbell rang. Edric jumped up to get it, and Shireen turned with her hands on her hips.

“You know,” she said under her breath, “it’d be a lot less crowded if a certain someone wasn’t coming.”

Shireen pointedly kept her focus away from the door, hoping to get through this situation as quickly as possible. It would be an awkward announcement for everyone to deal with this way. It was better than letting them get away with it.

“I just don’t think you should have brought flowers,” Edric hissed out loudly, walking back into the room. “You don’t even know her.”

“But they’re her favorite.”

Shireen turned sharply at the voice, jaw dropped open. She _knew_ that voice, but she couldn’t stop the bubble of anger from rising up. Even though Edric looked hilariously confused, Shireen could only glare at her husband.

“How do you know that?” Edric asked, blinking at Rickon.

“You jerk!” Shireen took heavy steps forward, going to poke a finger in the middle of his chest.

Rickon recoiled away. “Ow!” he said, rubbing at the spot. “Is that anyway to say hello? I brought you flowers.”

Shireen hit the flowers away, earning a sharp gasp from everyone at the table. A few titters came from the children, but she didn’t have it in her to look amused. “Forget the flowers,” she said loudly. “You didn’t even tell me!”

“Looks like you didn’t get around to telling _them_ either,” Rickon said, glancing over her head. “Now, they just think you’re mean.”

Settling down, Shireen crossed her arms over her chest. “They already know that,” she muttered out.

Rickon reached for her hand, pulling her apart from her defensive stance. “Well, that’s why,” he said, taking her hand in his. He gently rubbed over the spot on her ring finger. It hadn’t been long enough to leave a tan line, but Rickon still found it easily. “Where’d you hide your ring?”

Even without her reply, Rickon knew where she often kept it. He carefully pulled her necklace out from under her collar, letting it rest over her heart. Shireen could feel the heat rising to her face, but she was well-aware of what came next. Rickon leaned in to give her a quick kiss. When he winked at her, she finally turned back to address the room.

“Yeah,” she said, reaching out for Rickon’s hand. “I’d like for you guys to meet my husband.”

All of the adults at the table looked completely shocked. Most of them were frozen in place. Only Edric was looking around, trying to get a reaction from someone. The smallest of them finally stood up on the seat of his chair.

“Does this mean you’re going to have babies, Auntie Shireen?” Dax asked loudly.

Shireen turned to watch Rickon’s face go scarlet. His mouth was moving as if he was looking for answer. The other children started giggling. Then, Devan’s dad reflex kicked in to get Dax off his chair.

“Dax, sit down,” Devan said firmly. “And don’t ask questions like that.”

Dax looked confused. “Why not?” he asked back, climbing down into his seat. “You and Mommy have us. Uncle Ed and Aunt Willow have Lila and Sera. They need babies, too.”

It was fairly sound logic from a small child.

Desmera quickly picked up her queue. “It hasn’t been long enough, Dax,” she said evenly. “They need to talk about it and make sure it’ll be okay for them.”

Mina and Lila shared a looked. “Doesn’t matter,” they said together.

“They’re _soulmates_ ,” Sera said, stretching out the word.

Edric and Willow quickly glanced at each other before suddenly taking a large interest in serving everyone food. Shireen tried to keep her calm. Obviously, they had taken to discussing their relationship so comfortably in those terms that their children believed it was the same for everyone. She didn’t have to explain herself, though. If anything, her friends had to explain things more thoroughly to their children.

They eventually settled back down, and Shireen casually responded to any questions regardless of who asked them. It made for a few answers that adults weren’t quite comfortable discussing with their children, so they quickly steered the conversation to safer territory.

“So… what’s ahead in work?” Edric asked.

Shireen took a deep breath. Nothing was confirmed yet, no matter how often Rickon told her that the position was hers. “I’m working remotely right now,” she said. “I’m still doing research and still writing papers.”

“On what?” Willow asked. “You’re out of the university.”

“She never stops,” Rickon said, looking down at his plate. “She read through every book I own as soon as she had access to them. I don’t even know what she was looking for.”

“It’s _research_ ,” Shireen said, elbowing him. “And it’s kind of prep work for the position I applied for.”

Devan looked around before asking. “What’s it about?”

Shireen waved a hand, dismissing the topic. “Ancient Stark lineages,” she said. “Trying to fill gaps.”

Rickon dropped his fork, letting it clatter against his plate. “Wait.” He turned to her, looking eager. “You haven’t been trying to identify a certain queen, have you?”

“Trying?” Shireen asked innocently. She ran a heel of bread against her nearly-empty plate. “Of course not.”

Quickly, Rickon snapped out a hand to stop her from putting the bread in her mouth. “Who is it?” he demanded.

“First,” Desmera said, “What are you talking about?”

“Rickon Stark II’s wife,” Rickon said quickly. “She was never identified. It was right after the war, no announcements were sent out. There’s no record of her anywhere.”

Edric looked stumped. “How’d you manage to do that one?”

“Extensive research,” Shireen said. She was only just hiding the smile on her lips.

Rickon groaned, leaning into her. “Stop that,” he said. “Who was it?”

Smiling, Shireen sat up. She looked around at everyone at the table before turning to Rickon. “Can I tell them?”

“Who cares?” Rickon bounced forward in his seat. “Tell _me_. I was named after the guy.”

Laughing, Shireen pushed him away. She didn’t even want to keep building the tension. It was getting to be too much. “Rickon Stark was married to Shireen Baratheon.”

Rickon’s jaw dropped, and the rest of the table started talking immediately. After a short while, Rickon’s face fell. “Are you kidding me?” he asked. “Now, we can’t tell my dad.”

“Why not?” Shireen demanded. “I worked hard to figure that out.”

“And you’re positive?” Rickon asked back.

“Yes.” Shireen met his eyes directly, as if it could force the truth into him. The paper was almost done. She had just been waiting to show it to him.

Rickon groaned. “We can’t tell my dad,” he said. “He will never let me live this down.”

Shireen laughed again. Now, she could hear the joking tone in his voice. Tapping his legs, she eased him up so she could see the smile on his face. She grinned, leaning forward to give him a quick kiss. Even though she suspected that he had been just trying to pull strings together during the beginning of their relationship, he must have been embarrassed that there was some truth to what he told her. Still, it seemed fitting, and Shireen wouldn’t have it any other way.


End file.
